|
Round
Robin: Hobson's Choice Affair |
Napoleon sat down his suitcase. "I trust I've passed the test." A statement
not a question.
"How did you know?", the Russian asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
Inwardly, he allowed himself the luxury of the emotion of pride.
Napoleon grinned. "The military teaches one a few tricks", he replied.
"For instance?"
The American picked up the suitcase. "For instance, this is far too light
to contain clothing. I don't know about you but I can pack for myself. Also,
my American Tourister doesn't come customized." He pointed to the two round
holes drilled neatly on the right side. "No", he continued. "I suggest a concealed
camera and a bug."
Illya nodded in approval of his companion's logic. "Anything else, Mr. Spock",
he teased.
"Indeed." Napoleon shook his ticket folder. "It's empty."
Illya chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. "All right. I was certain
Waverly would stump you."
Napoleon fixed with the blond with a wounded look. "Oh ye of little faith..."
Suddenly he stopped in mid-sentence as a foil odor assailed his nostrils.
"Someone's burning."
Illya nodded and sniffed the air. Getting a direction he took off at a dead
run toward a partially opened door in the far right-hand corner.
He was brought down by an expert flying tackle just as the door exploded outwardly,
missing them by inches.
"Do you have any friends who are NOT trying to kill you?", the familiar baritone
whispered in his left ear.
"This is getting a bit redundant", Illya agreed, when he could finally speak.
Shaking the dust out of his eyes, he peered into the small storage room and
swore.
"Who?", Napoleon asked, compassion in his voice.
"I believe their names were Reynolds and Wilmington", a new voice, definitely
feminine, replied.
Napoleon, ever the gentleman, struggled to rise.
"Do stay where you are, Mr. Solo", the woman encouraged. "To look upon me
would mean your death and that would be a shame so early in the game."
Napoleon resumed his position but made certain the suitcase was left upright,
the camera's lens pointed at their hostess.
"And what game would that be?", Illya snapped, as he, too, struggled to get
a look at the newcomer.
"Really, Mr. Kuryakin, a girl must have some secrets", she chided.
"And I do not like your tone. Think of Mr. Solo."
Fear knotted in Illya's gut at the thought that his temper might cause Napoleon's
death. He fell silent.
"Good boys", the woman crooned. "Now, I really must be going. Remember, no
peeking."
----------
Ten minutes later, when the hotel was silent once more, they sat up.
"Damn!", Illya swore. "We've got nothing to trace!!"
Napoleon stretched aching muscles and grinned. "Oh! I wouldn't say that."
He patted the suitcase.
|
This page is an unofficial site that exists only for the fun of it. All characters and situations from the television show "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." are property of Norman Felton and Warner Bros. Nothing ill is intended by this use of any television characters in these amateur efforts. Any fiction linked to these pages is the intellectual property of the amateur author who created it and is not presented here for profit. |