Birds of A Feather - PicFic 2/24

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

The crowd was cheering wildly, almost as though possessed by some corporate spirit that influenced them to act, and react, exactly the same.

Two agents of the U.N.C.L.E. had come late to the party, and because of that were spared the hypnotic effects made possible by the beverages served to the willing spectators.  Instead of a soccer match this stadium full of fans were now watching the performance of a woman clad in black, sporting large feather like appendages as she pranced and twirled on the stadium floor.

“There’s Miranda, she found a way to get her audience.’ Napoleon Solo had hoped he and his partner could stop the THRUSH vixen before she was able to begin this performance; it was intended to produce a mass hysteria and eventually an accompanying riot.

“Do you have any idea how to stop this Illya?  You’re the scientist, is there something we can do?”  Solo was desperate, the results of this mad spectacle would be deadly for many of those present.

Illya was looking at the scene before him, calculating all possibilities.  He had nothing, too many people were affected and the probability of getting to enough of them to make a difference was... it seemed impossible.

“I don’t know Napoleon.  Miranda is the catalyst for all of it, we must stop her.”  That made Napoleon flinch; what Illya meant was stop her Miranda... permanently.

“Do you have a shot?”  Illya hsook his head.

“No, not from here.  I will need to get down to the stadium floor.”  Kuryakin began to walk away from Napoleon as he spoke, moving smoothly through a group of people who were laughing and gyrating to the music blaring out of the stadium speakers.

Napoleon watched as his partner made his way down to the next level, his steps beginning to mimic the rhythm of the music; he suddenly looked as though he belonged there, the blond hair a beacon for Solo’s watching eyes.

Once down to the last level Illya twirled a woman around, receiving a kiss for his efforts.  It would be dangerous for the Russian should anyone recognize the shot as coming from him.  Illya would need to move quickly to avoid being crushed by the crowd, the effects of the intoxicating potion and the hypnotic Miranda would take time to reverse.

Napoleon was making his way to the exit tunnel where he would meet Illya as he escaped from the infield.  He detested having to kill Miranda, or any woman, even if she was THRUSH. But the result of this show was going to be fatal for hundreds of people, all of them research subjects for this mad woman.  Illya would take care of it, not without some regret but ... he would handle it.

Illya wound through several groups, their fervor now tending to something dangerous.  With moves like a cat he maneuvered in an out until he was less than twenty feet from the black, feathered figure of Miranda.

When the shot was fired most heard nothing, their attention was so riveted on the music and the woman who fell to her knees, something that most of the onlookers thought was merely part of her performance.  By the time she collapsed entirely Illya was heading for the tunnel, walking in opposition to the others who were heading towards the fallen THRUSH.

Napoleon was waiting for his partner, alert for any other THRSH who might be on the prowl.  A collective cry went up from the infield, then gradually died down to a murmur.  The spell would soon be completely broken, lives saved and THRUSH once again thwarted in another nefarious scheme.

Walking briskly to their car, it was only a few seconds before Napoleon opened his communicator and asked for Mr. Waverly.

“Yes Mr. Solo.  Have you averted the danger?”

“Yes Mr. Waverly.  Miranda is ... she is dead.  I believe the crowd is returning to normal, no other casualties that we saw.”

A momentary pause caught the two men exchanging looks that spoke of their shared distress.  The killing was never easy, and Napoleon regretted that once again his friend, his partner, had been forced to take a life.  Illya would remain stoic about it, but something about this stung worse than usual.  Illya had been forced to take a life in the manner of an assassin, and regardless of the lives saved it was far different from shooting from a defensive position.

“Very well gentlemen.  I will see you when you return.  Perhaps a day or two at the UNCLE house on Barbados would be in order; I don’t need you coming back to New York without your equilibrium intact.”

“Thank you sir, that sounds.. um, that sounds like a welcome diversion.  I will let you know how things stand when we get there. Solo out.”

Sitting in the car now, Napoleon closed his communicator and looked at Illya.  The blond’s expression was devoid of any emotion except for a clinching of his jaw, the only sign of his state of mind.

Barbados.  That sounded about right.  It might not help, but at least it would be quiet there.

Comments

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

That's good work from Waverly, too.