As was his routine, Napoleon Solo paused to straighten his tie and hair outside the inner sanctum that was Alexander Waverly's conference room.
The pneumatic doors opened unexpectedly, catching him unawares and he was cast a surreptitious glare as the Old Man greeted him.
"Mr. Solo, if you are done with your preening, would you be so kind as to join us; I have a briefing to conduct."
Napoleon's face flushed with a fleeting moment of embarrassment at being called out and he entered the room in silence; seating himself across from his boss at his usual spot at the circular table.
Sitting beside him in Illya's chair was Rennie Du Bois, a Section II agent from the south and he gave a nod to the man.
"Hmm, good of you to join us, now if we may commence?" Waverly flicked some switches on the console in front of him.
The video screen silently lowered from the ceiling, with an image coming into view.
The picture was of a dark-haired man dressed in a white linen suit, with a black patch over his right eye. He carried a silver cat-headed ebony walking stick in his hand.
"This man whose true identity is unknown, is simple called Le Panthère," Waverly said. "One would suppose due to his affinity for the big cats." He has a rather large estate in the Assumption Parish, Louisiana. Ironically Mr. Solo the parish seat is called Napoleonville…" Waverly chuckled at that bit of information. The Acadians as you may recall migrated to the American South and settled there after the Great Upheaval of 1755."
Napoleon, being French-Canadian on his mother's side knew full well what that meant.
"It was the expulsion of the Acadians called Le Grand Dérangement; it was the forced removal by the British of the Acadian people from the Canadian provinces of Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island."
"Yes correct Mr. Solo, Assumption Parish, your destination, is one of the 22 Acadiana parishes in Louisiana, but more precisely you will be in the vicinity of the town of Pierre Part. It's a small place and has remained isolated from most of the world, since it is surrounded by water. The town only became accessible by land in the 1950's.
Le Panthère has taken advantage of this virtual anonymity, building a rather large and lavish estate surrounded by the Louisiana swamps. Now the whole point of this is his connection to T.H.R.U.S.H….despite the protection of the alligator-filled waters, the compound is appears to be heavily guarded."
Waverly turn a knob on his console, bringing an image into view on the video screen.
"An aerial photograph shows the main entrance to the rather fortress-like estate, with the image of a panther or some large cat rested over the gate. We know he's is up to something but what that is we still have no clue. Recently we sent an agent in to reconnoiter but lost contact with him. Your assignment is to get into Le Panthère's compound, assess the situation and if possible, find out what happened to our man."
"Sir will Mr. Kuryakin be joining us?"Napoleon asked, finding it odd his partner wasn't present. He hadn't seen Illya as of late, but that wasn't unusual since they were off on separate assignments from time to time .
"I regret to inform you that Mr. Kuryakin is the missing agent Mr. Solo." Waverly gravely nodded.
"You will take an U.N.C.L.E. jet to New Orleans and from there make your way...I dare say though the swamps to the compound near Pierre Part. I caution you not to engage Le Panthère or his people until we know what they are up to. Am I clear on this? And Mr. Solo, though I know it is your partner who is MIA, I caution you...no heroics that could compromise your mission. I also caution you regarding the locals who are often referred to as 'swamp people'. They stick to their own, and are wary of strangers."
Waverly looked at his wristwatch. "Your flight will leave in two hours, giving you ample time to prepare. Report to me upon arrival in New Orleans. Now dismissed."
Alexander Waverly send off was short and to the point; discharging his agents with a simple wave of his hand.
Napoleon nodded his acceptance, as did Agent Du Bois. Both men rose, leaving the conference room side-by-side. Once out in the corridor Rennie gently stopped Solo with a tap to the arm.
"That was pretty harsh of the him, don't ya'll think?
"Harsh in what way?" Napoleon canted his head to one side.
"Regarding Illya. It's like he's been tossed out with yesterday's trash."
Napoleon smiled. "Trust me the Old Man cares, he just doesn't show it. He was actually giving me the okay to get Illya out of there."
"How's that?"
"He just said no heroics. He didn't say not to rescue my partner."
"Gotcha," Rennie smiled in return.
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Their travel cases loaded; Napoleon and Rennie boarded the Learjet and settled in for take off. Beverly McMaster was in charge of the cabin and would see to their needs as well as to those of the pilot and copilot.
The takeoff was flawless and the agents unbuckled their seat belts once the jet had settled into it's flight plan and they moved to the sectional sofa at the rear of the plane. Beverly came back to them carrying a tray of drinks.
"Scotch on the rocks for you Mr. Solo and a mint julep for you Mr. Dubois."
"Mint julep?" Napoleon frowned,"Since when, your poison has always been gin."
"I figured since we're heading to the home of my ancestors, it would get me in the right frame of mind for this assignment."
"Hey we're not going there to enjoy the scenery if that's what you're thinking," this time Solo scowled. In the past most of his and Illya's assignments to the Big Easy were tense if not borderline bizarre...their own experience with voodoo in a New Orleans cemetery came to mind.* He was in no mood for pre-mission adventures.
Their landing at the New Orleans Lakefront airport was uneventful, other than the fact that Solo promised to take Beverly to the French quarter once the assignment had been completed.
"Ya'll are mighty sure of yourself at times Napoleon," Du Bois smiled as the two men deplaned, walking down to the macadam and heading towards the looming art-deco terminal.
"About getting the girl?"
"No, about living long enough to get the girl."
"Rennie if I thought otherwise I would have been dead a long time ago. Danger is a part of this business but I'm not going to let it put a damper on my life or lifestyle. What's the saying? Eat, drink and be merry…"
"I am very familiar with that...as my daddy was a bit of a preacher," Rennie said. "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die" is a conflation of two biblical sayings, Ecclesiastes 8:15, 'Then I commended mirth, because a man hath no better thing under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and to be merry', and Isaiah 22:13, 'Let us eat and drink; for to morrow we shall die."
"Well I was planning to leave out the part about dying," Napoleon said, not wanting to put the kybosh on the mission. "I plan to make that rendezvous with Miss Mc Master."
"Say didn't ya'll say there wasn't going to be any laying out?"
"Laying out?"
"Oh beg pardon...that's Southern talk for staying out all night, drinking and doing something illicit….if ya'll get my drift?"
"Hmm, yes I did say something to that effect didn't I, but I should have prefaced that would only be true until post-mission."
"Ohhh, thanks for clarifying that kind sir," Rennie chuckled.
Their rental car was waiting for them, and they tossed their bags into the back of the white Ford Galaxie Sunliner convertible with light blue side panels.
"Hmm, my kind of car," Solo commented as he slipped into the driver's seat. It would take them under two hours to drive to Pierre Part and once there the plan was to rent an airboat to navigate the swamps and bayous.
"It's a bit fancy for round these parts...a pickup truck would have been less obvious."
"Point taken, but it's that with which we've been blessed," Napoleon smiled as he started up the engine, listening to it purr for a few seconds before he pulled away from the terminal.
Solo and Du Bois arrived in the sleepy town of Pierre Part, and pulling up in front of what looked like a General Store, they stepped out in hopes of finding a boat to continue their travels to Le Panthère's compound.
A bearded fellow sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, looking very much like a hillbilly caricature, spoke to them with a slow drawl.
"Mighty fancy vehicle ya'll have there, yep mighty fancy for these here parts."
"Well it was the best the car rental service could do as they were flat out of pickup trucks," Napoleon quipped.
The old coot flashed him a look of displeasure. "Look here, we don't take kindly to city slickers makin' fun o' our way heah."
Du Bois jumped in, his accent immediately thickening. My name is Rennie Dubois and ya'll have to forgive mah friend's ignorance. He's a Yankee and don't know no better."
"Excusez-moi," Napoleon caught his faux-pas, switching to some French. I beg to differ, as I'm French-Canadian and not a Yankee. My apologies sir as I did not mean to offend."
"French-Canadian...you Acadian?" The old man asked.
"Pas encore (but of course)," Napoleon lied through his teeth, letting the man think he was related to the Cajuns there abouts, though there were few in Assumption Parish and mostly old-timers.
"Well why didn't ya'll say so. We is practically kin-folk. Mah daddy wuz Cajun. Shame I didn't learn to parlez the talk when I was a young-un. Mah name is Gator Boucher.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance Mr. Boucher. My name is Napoleon...ugh, Beliveau." He leaned forward, offering his hand to the man, and this time his greeting was accepted without reservation.
"Aw hell, forgit the Mister, jus' call me Gator. Now what kin I do ya'll fer fellas?"
"We're in need of some water transportation, perhaps an airboat?" Solo asked.
"We kin help ya'll out on that. What might you need it fer, and where you be takin' it? Not that I'm bein' nosy but I jus' like to know where my equipment's goin' to. Last feller who took one out never came back with it. Louis Del Croix finally found it way yonder up river. No sign of the slicker who rented it...plum figure he lost hisself in the swamps, so he lost his de-posit too." The bearded Gator cackled, amusing himself with that thought.
Rennie volunteered to address those questions."We need to travel to the Atchafalaya River Basin. Our friend traveled up that way, but he hasn't been heard from and we're worried about him."
"Odd goings on out there in them swamps. People been disappearing that aways fer a while now...we's thinkin' gators of course or panthers maybe. We been hearin' stories 'bout a black panther out there along the river, but t'ain't no blackuns out there, no way. I'da seen one and I wuz borned and raised heah.. Your friend, he a skinny blond feller? Longish hair?"
"That's a fair description of him," Napoleon held up a photo of Illya.
"Yesirree bob, that's him. He up and disappeared too I reckon. He done told me he'd bring our boat back the next day, but he never did. We figured he didn't know much about the bayou bein' how he wuz dressed up in fancy duds, kinda like ya'll."
"How long ago was he here?"
"Round 'bout a week or so."
"And you didn't think to notify the authorities?" Rennie asked.
"What fer? Some city slicker stupid nuf' to go out where'n he have no buisness going, I figure he gets what he deserves."
"Nice attitude," Solo whispered out of the side of his mouth. He raised his voice again to speak to Gator.
"Well I know you don't think we city slicker types don't know what we're doing, but let me assure you we do...and we need a boat to go find our friend. So are you going to rent one to us or not." He was polite but firm with the man.
"Keep yer britches on Beliveau. I'll git ya'll yer boat...but I want fifty dollars paid in advance, and a de-posit of another fifty."
"A hundred dollars?" Rennie blurt out." That's ridiculous. Boats don't cost more than ten dollars a day!"
"Hey take it or leave it. I figure you gents don't come back with my boat too, then I gotta cover my losses, until I find it. I don't have it here to rent, I ain't makin' no cash. Comprenez-vous?"
"Ahhh, that's fine Gator," Napoleon smiled, peeling the cash from his billfold. He counted out the money into the man's hand."
Gator Bouche flashed a half-toothless smile. "Pleasure doin' business with ya'll. Boat's around back at the dock. Spare gas can is there too. Bon chance looking fer him."
The man tucked the money into his shirt pocket and sat back down in his chair, stroking his long grey beard. He figured these two would end up in an alligators belly most likely as had their blond friend.
"City folks," he shook his head.
Gator Bouche pulled a small radio from his pocket.
"This is Gator here, two more slickers coming your way. Lookin' fer the first one."
"Roger that, we'll be ready for them."
"Jus' make sure you get my boat back quicker this time vous comprendre mes ami?" (you understand my friends)
There was no answer.
.
Illya Kuryakin moaned as he rolled over, sitting up with a start as he suddenly remembered where he was. His white shirt was torn and muddied and beneath it he was bruised and bloodied from his interrogation at the hands of his captors. His senses were stretched to their limits due to his lack of sleep...and nourishment. That alone had given him a pounding headache.
He must have dozed off, having stayed awake for days now. He was sitting on a ledge alongside a sunken pool of sorts, and peering just above the surface of the water were several pairs of eyes belonging to some very large alligators. If he wasn't careful, one of them could very easily make it's way onto the ledge and drag him into a watery grave.
The ledge upon which he rested had been growing shorter and shorter each day, retracting into the wall an inch or more at a time. In a few more days time, there would be nothing left and Illya would be the 'gator's next meal...something he wasn't looking forward to at all.
He had no apparent means of escape as the brick walls surrounding him were too tall to climb, and the only exit was a door on the opposite side of the pool, with no apparent means of getting to it.
"Ah so welcome back to ze land of ze living, Monsieur. You must be careful maintenant? One must not sleep too lightly as my babies are getting very 'ungry. I have made a point of not feeding them ze last few days." A dark-haired man in his mid-thirties wearing an eye patch peered over the edge of one of the surrounding brickwalls caressed with dangling Spanish moss and lichen.
"You need to let me go Mister Leonard Stillerman, that is your name is it not? It is in your best interest to do so."
"Don't call me that freakin' name Godammit!" The man's French accent momentarily disappeared as he lost his composure, instead he sounded as if he were straight from Brooklyn N.Y. After taking several deep breaths, his exaggerated foreign accent returned.
"I am Le Panthère and you are 'ardly in a position to threaten moi. Now if you will just tell me your name, perhaps that will at least make a start of our dialogue. Why are you 'ere? Who sent you?"
Illya laughed aloud. "It is for me to know and for you to find out...but I assure you; you will regret it either way."
"Oh Je ne crois pas, monsieur. (I think not sir)"Le Panthère laughed."You're 'ardly in a position to make ze threats." He reached out to a panel at the top of the wall where he was standing, and pressing a red button; it activated the ledge where Illya was sitting. It lurched retracted several more Russian, startled at the movement, scrambled backwards against the wall.
At the rate it was disappearing, there would be standing room only by the end of the day, and Kuryakin wasn't sure if he had the strength to remain on his feet.
Illya's thoughts went to his partner, hoping against hope that Napoleon, like the proverbial cavalry, was on the way.
.
Rennie manned the air boat, while Solo used his binoculars, scanned ahead for any other watercraft and surreptitiously looking for his missing partner.
Their surroundings were eerie, filled with mist as long fronds of Spanish moss draped downwards from the many cypress and tupelo trees that survived in the murky waters filled with organic deposits from the trees and floating vegetation.
Solo raised his right hand, signalling Rennie to cut the engine. Ahead he'd spotted a dock, with several boats tied there. No visible guards though.
They used a pair of paddles to approach, and figured their own airboat would simply blend in with the others.
The floating dock creaked slightly as it swayed beneath the weight of the two men as they stepped onto it, weapons drawn.
Together, they carefully followed a well-trodden path leading to the fortress-like compound, and as they heard voices, Napoleon and Rennie quickly ducked into the thick undergrowth.
As the voices disappeared, heading towards the dock, the U.N.C.L.E. agents made their way forward, coming to the main gate, eyeing the large pather motif above it. There they hid behind a large cypress, watching the numerous guards patrolling the perimeter.
"This is going to have to be a nocturnal manuever," Rennie whispered." No way we're getting inside during the daylight."
Suddenly there was the recognizable click of several weapons being cocked from behind them.
"Ya'll drop your guns and hands on your heads gentlemen," a THRUSH guard ordered in a slow drawl.
The agents complied, and were shoved forward, passing through the gate.
Somewhere nearby, there was a snarling sound not unlike what one hears from a 'big cat.'
"Well this solves the problem of getting inside..." Napoleon quipped and smiled as he watched Rennie roll his eyes.
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* ref. "That Voodoo that you do so well" s/7510785/1/That-Voodoo-that-you-do-so-well
