The room was eerily quiet, something that stirred within Napoleon Solo a slightly more active sense of foreboding. He entered the room ever so carefully, his eyes searching out the darkest recesses as they became accustomed to the lack of light.
"Ah, Mr. Solo. Please, don't be timid, I've been waiting for you."
That was the foreboding speaking.
"You have me at a disadvantage, and I don't generally like not having one myself. Who are you, and what have you done with my partner?"
The Russian had gone missing two days earlier when he failed to show up at the place agreed upon at the start of this mission. Neither of them had felt confident in the plans handed down to them, and when Illya didn't show up at their meeting place on Tuesday night, Napoleon had known instinctively that something was wrong.
"Tsk, tsk Mr. Solo. Is that all you have to say to me? I should think you would be equally curious about this place and what it contains. Are you familiar with the Medici Guardiani di Pietra?"
Napoleon looked around the room that was now bathed in a soft light, allowing him to see numerous statues, each one alike except for nearly indiscernible variations in their stance.
"These?"
The wary agent indicated the statues.
"Yes, Mr. Solo. My beautiful stone guardians, the very same guardians that stood at the gates of the Medici palace in Florence before they were stolen and taken to vaults beneath the Vatican where they have been for nearly four hundred years."
Napoleon raised an eyebrow at that. Who was this man?
"So, you've liberated them from the Vatican? That couldn't have been an easy task."
The smirk was obvious, intentionally so. These types always responded to prodding and insults. Their pride demanded it.
"You mock me, Mr. Solo. As a matter of fact, yes, to answer your question. Pope Pius IV had them removed from Florence and transported to Rome where he kept them hidden from the family… his family…'
His voice trailed off as though he were visiting the scene he described."
"The Medici produced several Popes, and they in return pillaged the treasury from which they had sprung."
"Let me guess, you're now returning them to their rightful place.'
That seemed to amuse Napoleon's host, although with these guys it was always difficult to know for certain.
"You're wrong, Mr. Solo. I intend to keep them, all of them. I have no regard for the Medici or their Popes. It was merely my intention to educate you, something that I suspect goes untended."
Napoleon's smile was casual, reflecting none of his apprehension concerning the situation.
"Well, actually… I do have someone who tries very hard to keep me informed. You might have seen him recently; blond fellow, not very big, funny accent…"
The other man had the decency to not gloat, exactly. This room that served as his treasure house held more than antiquities.
"Ah, yes… The Russian. He's here, has been for a day or so. I imagine he's wondered what took you so long to arrive, Mr. Solo."
Napoleon wondered at that as well. He should have been on Illya's trail sooner, but then this wasn't an easy place to find.
"Yes, well… if it's all the same to you, I think I'll just collect my friend and we'll be on our way. You seem to have plenty to occupy your time without bothering about us."
As though to add punctuation to Napoleon's statement, a light came on suddenly illuminating a lone figure lying bound on the floor. No doubt about who it was, the blond hair shone like metal among the old stone relics.
"Much as I'd like to oblige your suggestion, Mr. Solo, I fear that I cannot. You see, Mr. Kuryakin has something that I want, and he won't give it to me. Perhaps a little more persuasion will help to convince him that it really is mine.''
Out of the darkened corners of the room two men appeared, ready to disarm Napoleon. Instead of complying with that plan, Solo sprung into action. With one deft movement he felled one man, pushing him into the other and finishing them both with sleep darts.
Illya was struggling with the ropes around his wrists, much as he had for the past day. The best he could manage now was to remove his shoes and wriggle his feet through the ropes until he was finally able to stand and make a threatening move towards the man who had brought them here. A gunshot stopped both agents from moving any closer to the man holding the weapon.
"I will shoot Mr. Solo, and I do mean fatally. Mr. Kuryakin, as impressive as your little demonstration was, I don't believe you will continue to deny me what you hold contemptuously beyond my reach. Either give it to me now, or say goodbye to your partner."
Napoleon was standing next to a series of metal structures, most of them less than four feet tall. They could have doubled for fence posts to a less informed man, but Napoleon saw that they were small obelisks, although he couldn't imagine what use they were.
Well, he could imagine one thing to do with them. Without hesitation and while being threatened with certain death, Napoleon took up one of the metal obelisks and aimed it at their captor. Much like the javelin he claimed to have thrown in college, Napoleon threw it with skill and accuracy. The shock of being struck down with one of his treasures was the last expression on the man's face.
Napoleon strode to where his partner stood and helped him out of the ropes still binding his wrists. Illya retrieved his shoes, put them on and then turned to his partner, a look of some admiration on the slightly battered face.
"That really was a remarkable throw, Napoleon.'
The blond sighed, a little too deep a sigh but then these escapades did tend to weigh heavy on them at times.
"I am quite relieved to be leaving here, these statues gave me troublesome dreams last night.'
Napoleon looked a little more closely at his friend, wondering briefly at the kinds of dreams the Russian might have had.
It was not likely that he would ever know. Rather than pursue it, he called in for a clean up crew and then, in a moment of largesse fueled by friendship, offered to pay for lunch.