Man from U.N.C.L.E. Section VII

I’m combining three challenges into one: ‘Wednesday is all about April,’ ‘Song Story’- the prompt: “Baby it’s cold outside,” and ‘What’s my line,’ the prompt: “I don’t believe in Santa Claus.” Enjoy!

Mark Slate sang out, playing his guitar as he was seated on a stool in the Canteen, entertaining the troops with a singalong; it being Christmas Eve, as it were.

They were all stuck there for the duration since a huge blizzard had hit, bringing the city to a stand still. No one could get out or into Del Floria’s or anywhere else for that matter.

He didn’t answer her question at first, making April more apprehensive. She was afraid she was going to lose him.

“Mark?”

"The Ruse: Part 1 Part 2

"Miss Dancer," Waverly relit his pipe, pausing befoe he spoke to her; his bushy   eyebrows arched as he did so.

“I know you’re putting on a brave face at the loss of your partner, but my dear I want to make sure you’re truly ready for this assignment?”

April shifted her position in her chair, choosing her words carefully before responding to her boss.

The doors to Waverly’s conference room opened with a quiet ‘whoosh’ and in strolled Napoleon Solo, flanked by his Russian partner.

“Gentlemen, thank you for being prompt.” The Old Man’s attention returned to the auburn-haired woman seated across from him.

“Miss Dancer, I’ll expect your report upon arrival in London. Now Dismissed.”

April dressed in a tight-fitting yellow mini-dress and matching boots stood. Slowly walking to the door, she flashed a coy smile.

The effects of her swaying hips were hypnotic as three necks craned to watch her.

“Brrrhummhumm, yes quite,” Waverly coughed, hoping the others hadn’t noticed his gawking.

Links to chapter 1: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/702458.html
chapter 2: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/717867.html

It was dark and in the wee hours of the morning by the time Mark, Napoleon and Illya pulled up in front of the Palace Theater. Supposedly set for the ‘off-Broadway’ opening of ‘The Queen’s Ransom’; the place was not what the agents expected. It was a bit on the seedy side and gave them a rather ominous feeling. Perhaps there wasn’t a real play after all and this was simply a trap set by this rhyming man fellow.

They knew they were in the right place when the saw a poster of a woman dressed in a regal gown bearing a strong resemblance to April Dancer.

Mark Slate paused for a moment staring at the poster, a look of worry filled his face.

“Don’t worry Mark, we’ll find her,” Napoleon reassured him.