"The Rio Affair" Chapter 2~ for PicFic Tuesday.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Link to: Part One

Donning sunglasses, the two tanned agents worked their way through the throngs of people

there on the streets for Carnival. Their clothing wasn’t out of place as they were both in linen
suits, though Solo opted for a brown polo shirt,while his partner still wore the coral color, this
allowed them to easily blend in with the myriad of tourists there on vacation.

Neither man was happy to be giving up their holiday, but when duty called they answered without
hesitation, though the Russian seemed the least unhappy of the two. Napoleon had talked him into going back to Brazil, in spite of their previous mission there nearly getting him killed.

As they walked among the revelers, hey were each waylaid several times by women dressed in flimsy feathered costumes, and kissed until they could pry themselves from their embraces. Though the last girl to latch onto Solo he found just too sexy to let go, and the American returned her embrace with enthusiasm.

He didn’t need Illya to remind him of the urgency of their assignment, and finally relented,pulling away from her.

“Chow, gorgeous. It was fun while it lasted,” he smiled giving her a gentlemanly bow.

“Oh, você está quebrando meu coração você homem bonito,” she stood in front of him, jiggling her barely covered breasts at him.



Napoleon took a few steps back and turned, moving at a quick trot to catch up with his partner.

“What did she say to me?”

“She said you were an American imperialist, and she hated you.”

Solo grabbed him by the sleeve. “She didn’t say that...did she?”

“Hmm, perhaps it is time for you to improve your language skills?” Illya laughed.

“Hey I have a quite a few languages under my belt but those that I don’t know, I defer to your capable abilities my friend.”

That did it, as Napoleon knew it would. Stroking Illya linguistic prowess would get him to tell the truth. “So what did she really say?”

“All right. She called you a handsome man and that you were breaking her heart.”

“That’s more like it. Yes, Napoleon Solo... handsome heart breaker.”

“I knew I would regret telling you,” Illya rolled his eyes.”Your ego when it comes to women needs no boosting.”

The crowds on the streets finally began to thin out, the farther away they got from the festivities, and there they were finally able to hail a taxi.

“Onde senhores? Where to, the driver asked.

“As aves de rapina escola de samba,” Illya responded.

“Isso está no outro lado da cidade ... ninguém vai estar lá senhors; eles ainda estão comemorando o Carnaval.”

"Isso é bom, vamos esperar até que alguém da escola retornos,” Illya said.

“So you going to translate chum?” Napoleon asked after being patient.

“Oh sorry. He said the school is on the other side of the city, more in the suburbs. No one will be there as they are still celebrating Carnival. I told him we will wait there until someone from the school returns.”

“Senhors, aves de rapina está localizado em uma área muito difícil. É nas favelas. Você está certo de querer ir para lá?”

“Sim temos a certeza, muito obrigado.” Illya answered him. “He says the school is located in a pretty rough area. It is in the slums, which are not a place to wander about without someone who knows his way around.  He asked if we were sure we still want to go there and of course I told him we do."

“Tell us about the samba schools?” Illya asked, still speaking Portuguese.

”The samba schools represent the community spirit of a neighborhood, which is usually a particular slum. They bring a sense of community and belonging," the driver nodded with pride.

The agents were dropped them off in front of a dilapidated warehouse.”Do you want me to wait around senhors, just in case of trouble?”

“Good idea,” Kuryakin said, "but do not stay here, park nearby.”  Illya handed the fare plus a generous tip.

“Voltar. Meia hora. Mais dinheiro para você_ come back. Half hour. More money for you.” Napoleon said in broken Portuguese as he waved a few more bills before putting them away in his pocket.

“"Seja senhor cuidado, não flash dinheiro nesta parte da cidade. Eu espero que você não carregam objetos de valor, senhors?”

“Entendido,” Illya answered. “He said you should be careful about flashing money in this part of town. He hopes we are carrying no valuables.”

Napoleon opened his jacket, flashing his holstered gun to the man.

“Muito bem, senhor.”

Solo understood instantly that met with the driver’s approval.

The taxi drove off as soon as Napoleon and Illya closed the door behind them and stepped onto what served as a sidewalk.  It was more gravel and debris than anything, interspersed with green tufts of grass.

“This doesn’t exactly look like a school, does it?” Napoleon asked.

“What I have heard is these are more like clubs where people simply show up to learn the dances and routines for the parade, so in the true sense, it is not an institute of learning.”

There was nothing to indicate it was a THRUSH holdout, but they never exactly hung out the welcome mat with their emblem on it.

Napoleon took the lead, cautiously approaching the door but found it open, much to his surprise. Since the school was participating in Carnival, and the members wouldn’t be back until late in the night, it seemed be safe to proceed. Though it didn’t make sense the place would be unlocked and unattended in a tough neighborhood, unless some birdies were nesting here.

As soon as they stepped inside, both men drew their weapons. Solo moving the left, Illya to the right as they made their way along the walls of what looked more like a gymnasium than a warehouse..

It vacant, though the floor was littered with bits of feathers, crepe paper and sequins, no doubt this is where the participants prepared themselves and the float, though how they got it out of here was a less important question to be answered at the moment.

Napoleon came upon a door with a very official looking warning on it.

‘Entrada proibida!’ It was easy enough to decipher as ‘No entry’.

He signalled to his partner who made his way across, joining him by the door.

“Shall we?” Napoleon asked,

“After you.” Illya gestured.

The door opened in silence and they stepped in, finding themselves on a landing to steps that disappeared in the darkness.  The stairwell was poorly lit, and the agents crept down, keeping along the walls.

They came to a second door, this one illuminated with a red overhead light, giving the entrance an eerie, foreboding appearance.

Napoleon listened the old fashioned way, putting his ear to the door, but heard nothing.

Illya tried the handle, and finding it locked; he pulled a lock pic from his trouser pocket and with two clicks it was done. He slowly opened the door, and stepped into what looked like a laboratory.

Everything was white, and there were beakers and test tubes containing various color liquids and on one of the desks lay a green binder; on its cover the T.H.R.U.S.H. emblem.

Napoleon pulled his communicator. “Channel D-overseas relay. Mr. Waverly.

“Yes Mr. Solo what have you to report?”

“We’ve found the samba school and it’s definitely T.H.R.U.S.H. There’s some sort of lab here but we’re not quite sure what’s going on.”

“Well, gather whatever intelligence you can and get out. I don’t want you engaging them, nor running into the likes of Miss Machado until we know what they're up to. Out.”

“Okay chum we’ve got our marching orders. Gather up what samples you can of what’s in those test tubes.”

“Napoleon, I do not think I will need to do that,” Illya was looking over the binder he’d picked up from the desk. He looked up from the page, pointing to something ominous. “The are in the process of developing a formula that specifically destroys oil and all its derivatives.”

“Destroying oil? Don’t tell me they want to corner the market by wiping out the world’s supply, while controlling their own oil fields that will be miraculously spared.”

“Excellent guess my friend. It would that is the case. They have apparently gone into business under a company called Petek...Petroleum Technologies.”

Napoleon opened his communicator, calling Waverly again.

“Sir, can we find out any information on a company under the name of Petek.  It seems our feathered friends are delving into the oil business and may be planning to wipe out the supplies of the competition.”

“The devil you say? If they were able to manage that, they could gain a stranglehold on the fuel industry, not to mention all the other products that are made from petroleum. One moment Mr. Solo.”

“Yes, here it is. Petek, a new company oddly enough, headed by an Egyptian man named Maahes Zuberi. It has recently gone public on the stock market. Based in Venezuela; they have been buying up the smaller oil companies there and are in the process of creating a monopoly among the oil reserves. Indeed this is most troubling.

“Did not the oil producing countries of Venezuela, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and Kuwait form the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries better known as OPEC only a few years ago,” Illya called out.

“Indeed Mr. Kuryakin,”The main goals of the members countries was to secure and stabilize international oil prices to ensure their interests as oil producing nations. They are managing this by maintaining maintaining export quotas that are helping to prevent  overproduction of oil on an international scale.”

Illya waved to get his partner’s attention, pointing excitedly at the binder.

“Beg pardon sir but I have been looking through a notebook I found here, and the formulas with which they are experimenting are listed in great detail. Apparently they are focusing their work on extremophiles, which in their natural state are microorganisms that live deep underground in conditions where most organisms would not survive.

“Extremophiles? I have never heard of such a thing. What are they?”

“They swim in oil deposits, eating the oil in essence, though they do leave behind a variety of by products which taint the oil. This requires the industry to refine it even further to make it usable for fuel and other purposes. What they seem to be doing here though is developing a mutated form of these extremophiles in order to destroy the oil deposits and thereby leaving no usable by products. How they plan to control these microorganisms is unclear.”

“That is for me and me alone to know,” a deep voice said from behind them. “But first gentlemen, I need you to slowly put down your weapons and put your hands on your heads please. And do so slowly as I would hate to have you shot before we have made our acquaintance.”

Napoleon put down his communicator on the table, leaving the channel open. He and Illya cooperated as there were three men with their weapons trained on them. The man speaking to them was and olive-skinned, this hair as dark and shiny as a raven. He too was dressed in a linen suit, but it was completely white. His eyes were dark and intense as he stared at them.

Alexander Waverly listened in, feeling helpless at first.

He flicked a switch on his console, contacting Communications.

“Yes sir?”

“I want a fix on Napoleon Solo’s position, and quickly...his communicator signal could be lost at any moment.”

“On it right away sir.”

The U.N.C.L.E. agents were led into another room, leaving behind their guns and communicators.

The contrast to the stark lab was startling, and it was as if they’d stepped into the Egyptian Antiquities Museum in Cairo, a place with which Solo and Kuryakin were all too familiar.*

There they were surrounded by  statuary depicting several of the major Egyptian gods and goddesses with carved heads of jackals and hippos, there were alabaster canopic jars as well aS stela depicting scenes of the Pharaohs and their court, most likely from the third dynasty. All treasures that belonged in a museum.

But the most outstanding thing there was the fact the room was crawling with cats, and sitting in a prominent display was a golden statue of the cat goddess Bastet. In front of the statue were burning sticks of incense and bowls with offerings of food.

Illya flashed a quick look at his partner, feeling very uncomfortable about their surroundings. His memories of their assignment in Egypt, though years ago held some upsetting and frightening imagery for the Russian, who'd found himself wrapped once again in linen bandages and mummified, but this time encased in a royal sarcophagus; all part of a sinister ritual with a cult dedicated to the goddess Isis.

“Please sit,” the man in charge said,” gesturing towards two ornately carved chairs, done in an ancient Egyptian style.

“I am Maahes Zuberi, and this place belongs to me, including the lab and what you were looking at. Now gentlemen, you will tell me who you are and why you were snooping about.”

“Of course, if you’d let us explain ea while in the lab none of this would have been necessary,” Napoleon flashed a confident smile. “My name is Edward Neary and this man is my associate Igor and we were sent by the Council to look into your operation.”

“THRUSH Council? Why was I not notified?” Zuberi was angry, but instead of looking at Solo he kept glancing at the silent Russian.

Was it a look of recognition? Kuryakin gave no reaction to it, as he'd never met or seen the likes of Zuberi before.

“It's not the habit of the Council to give such warnings. We prefer to make our inspections without any undue interference,” Napoleon answered with an air of arrogant confidence in his voice. Amazingly his ruse seemed to be working.

“Oh I see. I am new to the ways of your organization so there are things to which I must become accustomed.” Zuberi reached for a decanter, offering his presumed guests a drink, still eyeing Kuryakin, but for what reason Illya had no idea.

“May I offer you a scotch?”

“No thank you, none for us Mr. Zuberi. Now if you’d be good enough to return our belongings, we’ll be on our way,” Solo rose from his chair, with Kuryakin following his lead, not saying a word.

“Oh Mr. Neary and Mr. ummm... Igor you have just arrived. Surely you will at least stay and dine with me as my guests? Might I impose upon you improving my education regarding TH.R.U.S.H."

“Would that we could enjoy your kind offer and the pleasure of your company, but we must be going.  We have other places to visit and reports to file. Speaking or reports, might I have a copy of your research, as members of the Council will need something more concrete than my report to update them on your progress."

Zuberi snapped his fingers, sending one of his guards away. He returned a moment later in carrying their guns and communicators, as well as the binder, handing them to Zuberi.

“I trust gentlemen that you will be giving the Council a satisfactory report on what I am doing here?"

"You can count on your report being brought to the attention of the highest people in our organization." Napoleon nodded.

Napoleon slowly rose from his chair, holding out his hand, not batting an eye when the guns and communicators were given to him.

He passed Illya’s belongings to him as the Russian stood silently beside him. Illya held out his hand as well, waiting for the requested document. Zuberi slipped a page from the binder, folding it in half and nervously handing it to the Russian who was flashing a frighteningly cold blue-eyed glare at him.

For some reason Maahes Zuberi gave him a slight bow, takeing a step back away from the Russian as he bit the two men adieu.

Neary and Igor were escorted upstairs and seen across the gymnasium and just as they thought they were home free, the doors opened and in walked the last person they wanted to see at the moment…Leticia Machado.

She let out a blood curdling scream, holding up the black wings of her costume like a monstrous bird of prey.

“Você! Levá-los! Estes dois são U.N.C.L.E. agentes_you! Get them! These two are U.N.C.L.E. agents!” She hissed in Portuguese.

There was a blaze of gunfire, and somehow Napoleon and Illya managed to get out of the building to the street and there they ran for their lives; dodging through the crowds of revelers who were returning from the parades around the city.

They made it around a corner, but suddenly there was the sound of screeching tires and a pair of glaring headlights came straight at them..

* The See the Pyramids along the Nile Affair

Chapter 3

Comments

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

It worked for me, and I'm really looking forward to how the whole thin plays out.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Me too...hahaha. WIP. And thank you for letting me know it worked.