Napoleon pulled into the rest area and let the car roll to a stop in a pool of yellow light. At this time of the night, the rest stop was deserted, even though there was plenty of traffic on the turnpike. With the UNCLE car, he found that they tended to attract less attention at night.
Illya shifted in his sleep, but didn't wake. How anyone could sleep in the bucket seat was beyond Napoleon's grasp. At this point, his ass wasn't going to be talking to him for a week… perhaps longer. It was always joked, though, that Illya could sleep anywhere and through anything. Obviously there was some truth in that. Of course, the fact that the Russian had gone without sleep for nearly forty-two hours also played some small part in it.
Napoleon opened the gull-style door, lifting up instead of out. Immediately the roar of the traffic assaulted him. It was amazing how insulated the bullet proof window made the car as well as how traveled this section of the Interstate was at night.
He glanced back at Illya and then climbed out after a brief but successful fight with the seat belt. Rendezvous or not, some bodily functions could not be ignored. Then he noticed something odd. While all the other parking lot lights were white, the one he parked under had a warm golden glow to it, safe can comforting as oppose to harsh and cold. Napoleon grinned and patted his hair into place. Some grad student was obviously having a field day with his or her research.
The wind was cool against his skin and Napoleon shivered as it insinuated itself between his clothes and his skin. It amazed him how cool the Southern nights could get.
Illya opened his eyes and sat up, wincing at the pull in his back. The masochist who designed this car should have been shot upon delivery. Illya now understood why there was only one UNCLE car and why it was the last to leave the car pool. Section One said it was cost, but Illya knew that no one in their right mind wanted to spend any great amount of time in it. It looked great, but looks could kill.
He grunted as he fought his way clear of the restraining straps and popped up the door. It was interesting how the highway could be so busy during the day and so quiet at night. He looked to where the road was and swore he heard crickets. Who could have guessed there were crickets along a major interstate highway?
There was a pool of white light surrounding the car, but Illya could see that they were alone in the rest stop. It was odd that the rest of the lights had a warm glow to them, but this one was so stark. Illya would have to ask Napoleon why he chose it. He yawned and took out his communicator.
"Open Channel D." Only static greeted him. He sighed and looked skyward. "Tell me why we can invent Earth changing devices, but we can't conquer the interference caused by a fluorescent light?" The sky refused to answer.
Noting that Napoleon had left the keys, Illya snagged them and began the tedious process of unwedging himself from the car. A trained agent and athlete, it should be a piece of cake to escape. It wasn't. As he wiggled and twisted his way out, it merely confirmed Illya's considered opinion that the man responsible for this monstrosity had to have THRUSH roots. Of course, it had been a treat the first time April attempted it in her mini skirt.
The air was still and heavy, with no indication of a breeze and thick with humidity. No matter how long he lived in the United States, he would never get used to the oppressive heat and humidity of the Southern summers. A trickle of sweat forged a path down his spine and he shivered in spite of the heat.
Illya looked towards the small cement and chrome structure, purposefully cut in half. One side had a more masculine feel to it, even though it was virtually identical to the other. It was obvious why Napoleon stopped.
A few feet away from the light, Illya tried again, but with a similar response.
"Okay, this isn't normal." He adjusted the gain and tried again. Then he tried with different channels, but with the same results. A small tendril of concern tickled the back of his neck and Illya headed back toward the car… except it was gone.
"What the…?" Illya patted his pocket and felt the keys familiar and heavy, against his hand. The car had a tamperproof engine and no one could jumpstart the stupid thing. Illya had once spent a frustrating three hours trying to do just that. Plus it would walk up everyone within a block radius when you start it, so a stealthy escape wasn't likely. So where did the car go? All that was left behind was an oil spot, fresh and glistening in the harsh blue light.
Napoleon shook his hands dry rather than fight the hand dryer. He'd used them before and it was louder than a jet engine, not that anyone would be able to hear it over the roar of the highway traffic.
He paused momentarily to check out the offerings of the vending machine – aftershave, condoms, razor blades and the like – before stepping back out into the cool, very cool, breeze of the night. There was nothing there he needed or wanted. After all, they would have time once they got o the hotel.
He was tempted to walk the length of the parking lot to stretch his legs, but a quick check of his watch told him that time was short and they needed to get back on the road if they were going to make their rendezvous on time.
He got back into the car and reached for the keys, except they were gone. For a moment, Napoleon played back his actions, distinctly remembering leaving them in the ignition. He wasn't worried as Illya was here and would wake up instantly if someone started the car. That's when Napoleon realized that Illya was also missing.
He released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. That made perfect sense. Illya would never leave the keys in an unattended vehicle. Now all he had to do was find Illya. His partner probably decided to stretch his legs and check in. He would have to do it away from the parking lights. For some reason, they blocked the communicator's signal.
Illya walked into the men's room and stopped. The place was empty, unless Napoleon was sitting on a toilet with his legs up around his chin. Illya smirked at the mental image, but he checked the stalls, none the less. The four stalls were empty and there was no place else to hide.
Frowning, he exited and headed from unexplored territory – the ladies room. It was also empty, but Illya was impressed with how much nicer it seemed than the men's room, not to mention smelling better. Napoleon wasn't in there either.
Stranded at a rest stop in the middle of the night with a dead communicator and a missing partner was probably not the best situation to be in. Sighing, Illya considered his options. He could head to the highway and thumb a ride into the next town and use a phone. Or he could sit tight and wait for rescue. When they were overdue for checking in, someone would retrace their steps and find him, but that would take time.
Move or stay? Neither appealed to him, especially without his partner.
"Napoleon!" he shouted, but it was as if the humidity muffled his call. Illya tried again and again until his throat ached with the effort.
Shaking his head, he started off towards the highway. Even with as quiet as the road was tonight, someone would have to come by at some point.
Napoleon walked the length of the rest area twice. He was heading back to the car when he swore he could hear his voice, faint and far away.
"Illya?" he called back and waited, but there was no reply. "Illya, what is going on?" Napoleon snapped his fingers suddenly and laughed. Digging out his communicator, he twisted it on. "Open Channel D, please. Illya, where are you?" A garbled sound, like a hundred voices all talking at once, assailed his ears and Napoleon winced. Without realizing it, he clicked the communicator off. Everything tonight seemed excessive - too much traffic, too cold for a July evening in Kentucky, too much interference, too much everything.
The good news was that, at least, with all that traffic, it would be a snap to catch a ride into town. He would hitch to town and make a call. Waverly would know what to do.
Out of corner of his eye, Napoleon saw someone moving just on the fringes of the golden pool of light. With a sigh of relief, Napoleon walked quickly towards the figure, his pace slowing when he realized something was wrong. His hand reached for his weapon, he aimed and fired. A sharp wave of nausea washed over him and he fought to stay upright long enough to get to the car. Whoever he shot at had vanished and Napoleon climbed into the driver's seat, then slammed and locked the door behind him. Only then did he dare to close his eyes.
Illya glanced back over his shoulder and slammed to a stop. The car was back and there was someone leaning causally against the hood. The person looked for all the world as if he was waiting for someone or something
"That's impossible," he whispered. Illya Kuryakin was a man capable of many things, but not at cultivating such a flight of imagination. The car had been gone and now it was back. Illya took a deep breath and shook his head, as if trying to clear any cobwebs that might be impeding his memory. He remember the oil spot and a drop of sweat trickled down his temple.
He took a few steps back towards the car and then stopped. Something was very wrong and his hand went for his weapon just as he felt a stabbing pain in his side. It nearly dropped him to his knees, but he was made of sterner stuff.
The safest place was in the car and he headed there, stumbling as if a quagmire was threatening to swallow his feet. It felt as if the air itself was fighting against him. It seemed to take years, but he finally felt the metal of the car beneath his hands.
Despite the fact that he had the keys, he could not get the driver's door to budge, while the passenger's door stood open and inviting, just as he'd left it.
Illya decided the effort of crawling over the center console would be worth it and got in, slamming the door down behind him. Panting, he closed his eyes to refocus his energy.
He jumped at the noise of the car door slamming and looked over. "Where did you come from?" he demanded of his partner.
"I was about to ask you the same thing." Napoleon looked as confused as Illya felt. Then he jumped at the twin whistles of their communicators.
Illya frowned and pulled his out. "Channel D is open."
"Mr. Kuryakin, you are fifteen minutes late with your check in." Waverly's voice carried his 'I am not amused' tone.
Napoleon pointed upwards to the roof of the car. By rights, they shouldn't be able to get any signal at all.
Wordless, Illya looked at his watch and then shook his wrist. "I'm sorry, sir. Apparently, my wristwatch must have been damaged in our last assignment." He shot a look over at Napoleon, who was tapping the crystal of his own watch. He held it up so Illya could see that both of their watches were in perfect sync with each other, but not with the car's chronometer.
"Then requisition a new one. Is Mr. Solo with you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then get a move on, son. These people aren't going to wait for you forever."
"Understood. Kuryakin out."
Napoleon sat quietly through the exchange and waited for Illya to return the communicator to his suit pocket. He tried to talk, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. "How could both of our watches be broken? Mine was working fine an hour ago."
"No idea, but I'm missing thirty minutes."
"Do you have the car keys?"
Illya pulled the keys out of his pocket and was in the process of passing them over when he realized something. "Napoleon, wasn't this light a different color?" The light shining down on them was pink, just like all the other lights that lined the rest area.
"Maybe the cold air has affected it."
"Cold? It's hot and muggy out."
"Hot? I was freezing,"
"And I was… not." They were silent for a moment. "I think it's time for us to get back on the road. At least there isn't any traffic."
"Are you kidding? It was bumper to bumper, that's why I pulled over. I was afraid that if there was an accident, I would have to do something I'd not done in years – go and look for a bush."
"Perhaps I should drive." Illya made the remark casually.
"Are you willing to get out of this car again?"
"Good point. Just get us out of here."
The car rumbled to life and Napoleon left a spray of gravel behind him.
"Well, that was interesting." Zirnov didn't want to criticize his offspring's attempt. "I liked the touches with the lights."
"You were right. It is more nourishing with the females of the species. They scare so much easier. These two didn't even panic." Valeg was disappointed. When you were a creature who fed on fear, cool and rational reactions were like sand to the desert.
From his position at the control panel of the ship, Zirnov readjusted the pool of light so that it cast a warm yellow glow again. "Do not worry. You are learning. Now, here comes another car. Try again."