Picfic Tuesday: Waiting for the Blond
Napoleon wasn’t happy about Illya going off to meet the contact alone. He was sitting on a bench on the boardwalk facing the Atlantic Ocean on a beautiful sunny day in Brooklyn. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, giving the impression of a businessman who had snuck away from the office to regroup by taking in the sights and smells of the beach. He replayed their last conversation in his head as he watched seagulls fighting over spilled French fries on the sand.
“I don’t like it, Illya; you could be walking into a trap!” he had said as Illya merged the car onto the Belt Parkway from the Gowanus Expressway. “It’s not like I don’t speak Russian.”
“Not like a native,” the Russian replied, “My people are a very suspicious lot; even here in America, they see KGB everywhere. Svetlana’s* cousin Afon knows the man I need to meet and has vouched for me. This man will not speak in front of you, Napoleon. I have to go by myself. I will be fine.”
“And you trust Afon not to betray you?”
“No, but I do not have a choice. If there is a THRUSH satrap operating in the Red Hook section of Brooklyn, UNCLE needs to know.”
Illya had stopped alongside the boardwalk to let Napoleon out. He was to wait there for him to return. That had been over an hour ago. Illya was wearing a homing device embedded in a tooth in lieu of carrying his communicator. Napoleon kept checking the tracker and the device had not been activated. Come on, Illya! What’s taking so long?
Anyone looking at him would think him the epitome of cool, calm and collected, but internally, he was clucking like a worried mother hen. He glanced down the boardwalk and saw a familiar blond head strolling leisurely toward him about a block away. Relieved, he turned back to watch the waves roll in and the clouds scud by. It really is peaceful out here, he thought. He looked over just as Illya sat beside him.
“I should have brought you with me, Napoleon.”
Napoleon’s sense of relief began to fade. “Why? What happened?”
“I got the information. Finally. For whatever reason the contact, who was introduced to me as ‘Ivan,’ decided that he liked me and wished me to know all about him, starting with his childhood in Kiev and ending with what he ate for breakfast this morning.” The Russian snorted in disgust, “He would not shut up!”
Napoleon began to laugh. “So much for being suspicious of strangers! It must have been the warm fuzzy look on your face that encouraged him to tell his life story. So, is there a satrap we need to destroy?”
“There is. Let us get something to eat and then head to Red Hook. We can contact Mr. Waverly and ask him to have a Strike Team meet us there.”
“Perfect, let’s get the car and drive over to Nathan’s for hotdogs. We can take them to the boardwalk and eat them on a bench.”
Illya smiled. “Why not. Let us go.”
*Svetlana was mentioned in “Changing Minds.”