"The Rio Affair" ~ for PicFic Tuesday.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

This is sort of a sequel to "Escape from the end of the world," Though I didn't plan on it being so; it just happened. Hope you enjoy it...

How Napoleon Solo had convinced his Russian partner to take some time off and go to Rio for Carnival was perhaps a miraculous event.

Kuryakin had recovered from a septic gunshot wound he’d been dealt a few months prior while on assignment in Brazil with his partner. The mission to rescue a medical researcher from his imprisonment was a success, but not without casualties to Napoleon, as well as April Dancer.

Illya wasn’t exactly a fan of tropical climates to begin with, and even he was in amazement that his partner had convinced him to agree to return to Brazil as to what seemed soon.

That agreement however, contained a few stipulations from Kuryakin; air conditioning, a swimming pool, an endless supply of top-shelf vodka and a promise that Napoleon would not try to finagle him into any dates with a friend of a friend, as well as a final amendment stating they’d go nowhere near the Amazon rainforest.

Illya wanted to simply drink himself delirious while laying poolside and read to his hearts content...well of course eat too. He had to admit, he was rather fond of Brazilian cuisine.

He planned to bask in the waters of the swimming pool, maybe try a few of those silly umbrella drinks and when he was finished, he’d go to his air conditioned hotel room where he’d continue his reading and drinking, order  room service and sleep...alone.

Napoleon obliged him on all accounts, still bewildered his partner could so easily ignore all the Ipanema beauties, with their bronzed skin and skimpy bathingsuits as they slinked by along the pool. All of them seemingly moving in time with the soothing music that was being played on a public address speaker.

It was a regular smorgasbord of gorgeous women, though Solo was fine with having the feast all to himself...but still, his partner being alone, managed to pull at his heart strings, making him feel guilty.

It wasn’t for lack of trying that Napoleon couldn’t get Illya away from his chaise lounge and his bottle of vodka but he finally gave up around noon and did an about face, following a tanned, raven-haired beauty in a yellow bikini into the hotel bar.

It was late in the afternoon when Illya finally went up to his hotel room and after showering to remove the massive amounts of sunscreen he’d applied to keep from burning; he threw himself onto his bed.

He’d dressed himself a pair of tan linen pants, a polo shirt that had a pink tint to it, and on his feet were a pair of soft white moccasins. Very un-Kuryakin-like garb, but suitable to the area and the climate. He was on vacation and simply planned to relax and enjoy some peace.

Napoleon gave his coded knock on the door and using the extra key Illya had given him, he sauntered in.

He stood there grinning at his partner, who, quite out of character, was looking tanned and tropical.

“Am I going blind? Are you wearing a pink shirt?”

“S’not pink, is coral, and yes I deemed it appro...appropriate for the...the, umm  climate, yes the climate.” He wagged his index finger as he finished his thought.

“You’re drunk.”

“No but I am feelin’ as you say, no pain.” Illya picked up his bottle of vodka on the nightstand and poured himself another drink. “Would you like one...wait, tha’s right you do not like vodka. Oh well, tha’s your loss.”

“Illya maybe it’s time for you to come up for air and get something to eat. Aren’t you hungry?”

Kuryakin laughed. “My friend is not tha’ question a bit redunnnunt? You know I am al’ays  hungry.” Illya stood up from the bed, wobbling a little, but he managed to maintain his balance while still holding his glass.

He raised it to his lips and downed the rest of the contents, and staring bleary-eyed at the bottle, he debated over pouring another one.

“Oh no you don’t,” Napoleon picked up the bottle and moved it to a nearby table. “We’re going to dinner.”

“Fine. Fine by me. I am ffffine. We are both ffine are we not?”

“Yes tovarisch, we’re fine,”Solo chuckled. Even though Illya was tipsy, it was good to see him unwind. He supposed the drinking got him over the fact they were back in Brazil but Napoleon was determined to keep his word regarding Illya’s demands about returning here.

After a multi-course dinner of Brazilian delicacies...Feijoada, an intense black bean stew with beef and sausages. Moqueca de Camarão...another stew of shrimp cooked in coconut milk and palm oil with peppers and tomatoes. Black-eyed pea balls fried in palm oil, stuffed with shrimp and vinaigrette and salad made of chicken, ham, raisins, carrots, apples, olives, mayonnaise, and topped with shoestring potatoes, Napoleon was beyond stuffed.

The courses kept coming and coming until he couldn’t eat another bite, and even Illya finally pushed away his dessert of Pavé made with layers of cookies filled with chocolate and coconut; it reminded Napoleon of a Neapolitan.

“Partner mine, I am impressed. I didn’t think one person could pack away that much food. Considering how skinny you are; where the hell do you put it all?”

Illya opened up his mouth to speak, but Napoleon cut him off.

“Don’t answer that, I know I know....it’s your high metabolism.”

“Why yes, that is correct. It is nice to know you listen to me sometimes my friend,” Illya grinned.

Solo was going to make a smart remark, but changed his mind. All was right with the world at the moment. Illya was correct, they were both fine and stuffed. Why bother trying to antagonize his friend? He’d save the puns for later in the week as their vacation wound down.

“Perhaps we should walk off our meal?” He looked at his watch.”Hey  Carnival has started, let’s go have a look see. I hear the Samba schools are quite a sight to behold.”

Illya shrugged, and Napoleon took that as a yes.

“You know for a man who has a voracious appetite for knowledge; I would think you’d be curious about the goings on of the world famous Carnivale?”

“Though I do admire the female form, I have no desire to ogle nearly naked women cavorting in a parade. I think that is more your idea of fun. I know what it is all about, honestly.”

“Okay, what’s it all about Mr. Smartypants?”

It is an annual festival held between Easter and Ash Wednesday which marks the beginning of Lent, forty days
before Easter. On certain days of Lent Catholics and  some other Christians abstain from the consumption of meat and poultry, and hence the term "carnival," from carnelevare, meaning to remove meat. Carnival, does however, have its roots in the pagan festival of Saturnalia, which when carried over to the Catholic faith became a farewell to bad things in a season of religious discipline to practice repentance and prepare for Christ's death and resurrection.”

“Well said and here I thought you might not know.” Napoleon let out a hearty laugh. “But on the fun side, there's more to it than scantily clad women; there’s the fabulous costumes, dancing and music from each of the schools Illya. It’s one big competition to see which will be crowned the best.”

Kuryakin had no response as the two strolled off, following the crowds heading for the viewing stands in preparation for the night festivities. Once the parade of the schools was over people would party and dance into the night, some in their own brightly colored costumes. Napoleon's thinking was that he could lure his partner out for some of the Rio night life if he played his cards right.

The agents found themselves a good spot and watched as the brightly costumed performers passed by. There were row upon row of members of each school, dancing and singing to their own chosen songs.

Each school begins its process with the "comissão de frente" with the group of ten to fifteen or more people from the school that appear first. They introduce the school and set the mood and style of their presentation. Their dances were choreographed, with their outfits telling a short story.

As the comissão de frente moved in their oversized costumes bedecked with immense feathers and head pieces, everything swayed in time with their chosen samba. Following each cadre of dancers was the ornate float of the samba school, called "abre-alas." These served as stages, and high atop them were mostly females, wearing revealing costumes and equally ornate head pieces.  They too swayed and jiggled to the music, with its driving and almost hypnotic drum beats.

As the parade progressed, each school was more impressive than the next, moving in swirl of bright oranges, red and yellow costumes amid the sequins and feathers.

The next group was particularly impressive as their outfits, a brilliant green and black, and wearing their head dresses resembling the ancient headpieces of Egyptian warriors; looking fierce and threatening. They were the attention getters, and Napoleon elbowed his partner as the float approached, it was made to resemble a pyramid of sorts, and out from its entrance stepped a woman dressed completely in black.

She lifted her arms, outstretched above her head to reveal immense black wings.

           

Illya leaned over, remarking that she somehow resembled the T.H.R.U.S.H. emblem. It seemed odd to see someone dressed all in black while each school was bedecked in brilliant colors for a celebration of life, somehow ignorint that it could also an homage to the Egyptian god Horus.

Napoleon did a double-take, not at his partner’s remark, but at the face of the woman wearing the costume….it was Leticia Machado, or at least he swore it was, but the eye color was wrong, they were brown instead of blue.”

Illya turned, looking Solo straight in the eyes. “Was that..?”

“So it would seem, though I’m not completely sure it was her.”

“Napoleon, I was my understanding she was in an insane asylum.”

“Yeah, about that...”

The Russian glared at his partner. “And when were you planning to tell me?”

“She escaped not long after her incarceration. Honestly I figured she was long gone. Mr. Waverly has his radar on high, keeping a lookout for her and until now, she hasn’t been sighted. She simply disappeared.”

“Apparently our radar is in need of some repairs,” Illya nervously ran his fingers through his hair. ”And you thought it would be good for us to make a leisurely return trip here knowing this about her?”

“Well it hasn’t been bad so far has it chum?”

Illya shook his head in complete dismay. “Did it not occur to you she might stay in her old stomping grounds?”

“Yes that thought did cross my mind, but keep in mind she has no idea we’re here. So we’re one up on her. I think it best to notify Mr. Waverly of her presence.”

“Agreed. Napoleon do you not think it strange that her costume as well as the others on the float resembled thrushes? Coincidence?”

“Partner mine, I have learned in this business, there is no such thing as a coincidence.”

The two disappeared to one of the side streets; Solo pulling his communicator as they hid, camouflaged by several large potted plants outside a restaurant, not only to escape prying eyes but the near deafening noise of the parade.

“Open channel D, overseas relay.”

“Yes Mr. Solo?” Waverly responded.

“Sir we have a situation here. Leticia Machado has finally resurfaced, and it’s possible she’s thrown her lot in with T.H.R.U.S.H.”

“The devil you say? We’ve not been able to locate her since her disappearance from the asylum.  Hmmm, fortuitous you spotted her. Consider yourselves officially on assignment. Follow her and confirm if she is indeed involved with our feathered friends.  If she is, I will decide your next move from there.Waverly out.”

“So much for our vacation,” Napoleon said.

“Why did I know it was a mistake coming back to Brazil with you? How you managed to convince me to do so, I will never understand.” Illya shook his head.

“Hey chum, it was my charming personality, what can I say?” Napoleon grinned. “Now first order of business, let’s find out which Samba school she was with. I’ll bet wherever it’s located, the birdies won’t be far away.”

Illya dug into his trouser pocket, pulling out a piece of folded paper.

“This is a list of the samba schools, but unfortunately there are a lot of them.

He scanned it, looking at the names classified as first league schools, but not seeing anything that was intriguing. The list of second league schools was much longer. There were other leagues as well, and doing a quick count, Kuryakin reckoned there were at least two hundred.

Illya called off some of the names, “Sao Clemente, Portella, Beija-flor, Em Cima de Hora, Unidos de Padre, Porto de Pedra, ahhh, here is a likely candidate as any.”

“What name is that?”

“Aves de Rapina...birds of prey.”

Link to chapter 2: