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The
Not-So Urban Myth Affair |
Not a word, eh? Noting the blond's poor humor, Napoleon decided that discretion was probably the better part of valor and kept his mouth shut -for now. Sweltering heat rarely made for cool tempers at the best of times, but being sent on a mission that could have been handled by a couple of rookies -on the potentially questionable information supplied by one of Napoleon's amorous contacts- had put the slight Russian in a sustained state of pique.
As certainly as he hated the cold, Illya detested the heat and the Russian's fuse was getting shorter by the hour. The sooner they retrieved the data pack of that downed U.S. spy satellite and got out of this natural sauna, the better.
Illya finally responded to Napoleon's silent appraisal with an apologetic half-grin. "Feedback from a malfunctioning radio transmitter, perhaps," the blond murmured with a shrug as he heard the calls of various fauna gradually making their tentative return. He recalled the pre-mission briefing that he and Napoleon had received -they had been warned about reports that a group of guerrilla soldiers had been sighted in the area -not THRUSH, but just as bad, if not worse, in their own way as they had no name and no agenda save for service to the highest bidder. "Those mercenary guerrilla soldiers that Waverly told us about -if they *are* in the area, that would explain the disappearances as well."
"True..." Napoleon concurred, warily scanning their lush, sultry surroundings. There was an oppressiveness here since that odd event; something that, to his reckoning, had little to do with the furnace-like heat or the moisture-saturated air. Too oppressive...needed to get a hold of himself, not give in to heat-frayed nerves. A slight smile twitched the corners of the senior UNCLE agent's mouth as he watched Illya down a long swallow of the lukewarm water in his canteen, droplets trickling down the Russian's bared throat to spatter his already sweat-soaked shirt. Oh, he *couldn't*...but he *had* to... "Of course," Napoleon purred teasingly, "those particular intruders weren't on the scene until *after* those disappearances, Tovarisch. I vote for U.F.O's."
"Wha-" The water came from Illya's mouth in a spray.
But not because of his partner's ludicrous statement.
It was that sound again -and this time, it was not unaccompanied. There was a thunderous rumbling...
...as the ground began to tremble.
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