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The Andaman Affair Chapter 1
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Disclaimer
This is a work of amature fiction, no contravention of copyright is intended and no profit is made from this endeavour.
Of all the places Napoleon Solo didn’t want to be, it was here, Patpong Road in Bangkok. He could live without the sweat, without the condensation of a westernised society who hovered restlessly about him. He could do without the constant concern about their bird-brained friends, not to mention the smell. Lord if only the smell weren’t so rancid he’d be able to breath.
The air swirled around him like fetid soup, the overburdened roads and poor sanitation against a backdrop of millions who lived each day hand to mouth. It was poverty unlike anything he had ever seen or been able to come to terms with.
So far removed from the gentle slopes of Korea with her rice fields extending to the distance and the cool breezes. There he felt as though he were dealing with people, there he understood the nature of the war and the need for freedom.
He paused as the bars loomed into view and the street vendors and whores all jostled for his attention. He refused with a polite shake of his head and felt long fingers digging into his body, touching him intimately and he hastened his step. Illya had been less than specific when he’d contacted central, only that he was in Bangkok in a bar district and that he’d missed his informant.
Napoleon chewed his lip thoughtfully as he passed yet another street vendor, the small barrow parked next to a noxious smelling open sewer grate as she called to him and offered small sweetmeats on sticks. Again he steeled his stomach and fought his way through the street, praying that his luck would hold and he wouldn’t need to spend the rest of the day trawling bars for his erstwhile partner.
Something else lurked in his heart, a small kernel of fear that kept his feet on the road and his mind racing, looking for the ever-present danger and hoping he’d spot the blond head in the sea of darkness that oozed around him. Sweat trickled down his back and made the linen shirt stick to his skin as he composed himself and moved into the doorway of the San Francisco Bar.
The lazy rattan fans did little to relieve the heat and exhaustion and even now in the middle of the day, service men and ex-patriot Americans crowded the small bar area. The girls working the testosterone-laden room largely ignored the locals as he scanned it with a jaundiced eye.
Life lately had become more complicated than normal and within seconds he knew that a blond man had not been here and moved on. Only another fifteen bars to check, he could call for backup get a couple of the rookies in the Bangkok office to help him search but again that Solo sense where Illya was concerned suggested he keep this affair discreet and very very private. Something was distinctly wrong.
From the very beginning this affair was doomed to failure. Illya had been back from Aden for less than a day when Waverly had given him the assignment. He’d been in Italy and when he got back to the New York office he read the files and found that his alarm bells began to chime in consort to his escalating concern. Aden had not been kind to Illya who’d checked himself into the infirmary on return and whilst he was considered fit for duty the records strongly suggested rest.
From there the only contact in three weeks had been four days ago and Illya had sounded tired. Uncle Alex mentioned it in passing during his briefing and Napoleon did something he rarely did. He insisted that he be sent in as backup to find the missing UNCLE agent, and to stop the new threat that THRUSH seemed to pose.
Already stretched to the limit with resources Alexander had been less than thrilled but acquiesced gracefully when Napoleon used the retirement option as he stared the old man down in the conference room. Since then he hit the airport running and hadn’t stopped in what felt like a week.
He checked into the Montien Hotel and took a large suite before checking all the major hotel registers for Illya and came up empty-handed. Either Illya had gone to ground for a very good reason, had met with some problems or just simply didn’t want to be found. Any or all of the above gave Solo pause for concern. Illya simply didn’t go missing unless there was a problem, but that niggling fear that tickled at the corners of his brain suggested that there was something he was missing.
So he resorted to the first rule of being a spy. He checked sources and tried to find a pattern. This affair was a mess and made no sense. The Chaos theory applied but even in chaos you should be able to find a pattern. So far it eluded him, but he’d work at it until he knew for certain what was happening.
Or perhaps more importantly, what wasn’t happening. Non-action was just as telling and he steeled himself as yet another bar loomed into view. This one the haunt of the pretty boys that some of the men took a fancy too and they smiled generously as he entered in his finely tailored dark pants and expensive linen shirt.
He stopped in the doorway and adjusted his eyes to the gloom and watched as girls tittered on high heels in micro mini skirts and flirted gently with the men at the bar when a pair of startled blue eyes caught and held his.
Relief washed through the American as he pushed through the throng to the furthest corner of the bar and squeezed into the tiny booth table opposite his friend.
The gentle smile turned into a frown as he took a good long look at Illya. Dark smudges under the blue eyes and translucent skin made him look fragile. Illya’s hands shook as they tipped the volatile vodka down his throat and he winced as the raw wound of her passing burned down to his stomach and warmed even the chilliest of places for a moment.
“What are you doing here?” Illya asked at once bored and distracted by his companion as he watched the room with nervous anticipation.
“Looking for you old friend. Uncle Alex was concerned for your welfare.” Napoleon leaned on the creaking table and smiled as the girl brought him a Singha beer and bowl of nuts. Out of habit he flirted gently and Illya couldn’t restrain the small echo of laughter that bubbled from his throat.
“I would be very careful whom you seduce around here Napoleon.”
“Meaning?”
“You’ll get more than you bargain for. The pretty girls are Loy Klatoy.”
“Loy what?” Napoleon asked as he watched the girl leave, her striking features softened by the genuine smile she cast over her shoulder at him.
“Men.” Illya said softly as he poured himself another shot of vodka.
“What?” Napoleon choked on the beer and began to cough.
“The swaymaks are men.”
“Swaymaks?”
“Beauties.” Illya looked over his shoulder and shuddered his complexion waxy in the heat as sweat beaded on his brow, his once immaculate suit hung on his diminished frame and he looked dishevelled.
“Ah, okay, so now we know what I’m not supposed to do, how about you tell me what’s going on?”
“Meaning?”
“Don’t be obtuse Illya. You know damned well what I mean.” Despite the heat in his words and genuine anger his smile never faltered. To the casual observer they were nothing more than two friends sharing a drink, yet if you took a look closer you could see the strain and danger both men radiated as the slender blond shivered.
Signs of distraction that the watcher didn’t miss. Illya caught the jade green eyes and hitched his breath in alarm as he turned in the seat under the watchful gaze and smiled sadly.
“Would that I could answer you Napoleon. I cannot. Things are not as they seem and all of us must at times keep a secret. To tell you mine would endanger you, and believe I would not nor will I bring you willingly into this sordid mess.” Illya stood on shaking legs and moved away from the table.
“Illya!” alarmed, Napoleon stood, but knew well enough not to start a fuss. “I’m staying at the Montien Hotel, come to see me as soon as you can. Trust I will not let you go so easily.” Napoleon tightened his hold on the too thin wrist and re took his seat.
“You may have no other choice.” Illya smiled sadly as he moved away into the throng leaving Napoleon bewildered and distressed in his wake.
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