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Round
Robin: Hobson's Choice Affair |
"True." Illya shook his head in undisguised dismay at the sight of the girl's
body. The message was clear to him, at least. If THRUSH would do this to an
innocent, one who had nothing to do with this game of cat and mouse, they
could be counted on to show no mercy to their known enemies; to an UNCLE operative
or another innocent. The American was knowledgeable, skilled, but even now
he suspected that this mission was to him little more than a grand adventure
in a life that had become boring.
Illya searched around, found a ratty moth-eaten blanket and covered the body.
He suspected that he was being unfair in his assessment of Napoleon, but the
less he liked the American, the easier it would be to keep his mind clear,
to not give into the urge to protect him at the expense of the mission. The
mission came first. Always. Life and training had taught him that. "What?"
Napoleon was giving a silent signal, eyes directing the Russian to look towards
the floor. Illya knelt and studied -what- a stain; a slight smear the color
of rust that looked as if it had been left by the heel of a
shoe...more than that, a *woman's* shoe. "Ah, our mysterious 'lady friend',"
Illya murmured.
"Yeah, I don't doubt it," Napoleon muttered grimly. "Quite the black widow,
isn't she?"
"Hmm..." Illya wrinkled his noise at the foul odor that permeated the place,
a familiar metallic tang beneath the stink of charred flesh becoming stronger
as he followed a trail spots and smears -ending at a wall. He
tapped the wooden panel tentatively and then pulled a switchblade from his
jacket pocket, working the steely knife along an almost invisible ridge along
the wall. He ignored Napoleon's "told ya so" expression; ignoring the tickle
of pride in his chest for the handsome American was a little more difficult.
Suddenly, there was a click, then a thump and the wooden panel fell away from
the wall and two bodies tumbled out from the hollow revealed there. "Reynolds
and Wilmington," Illya whispered. They had both been shot in their foreheads,
blowing a good portion of their faces away.
Napoleon stared at the grisly sight with a sickened grimace. "*Definitely*
a black widow."
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