Mr. Waverly sat puffing his unlit pipe as he watched his CEA staring at the picture of the woman in the file he had just sent around to him. "Mr. Solo," he intoned, "Do you know her? Your eyes widened slightly when you first gazed upon her." And you paled briefly, also.
Napoleon cleared his throat and said, "No, no Sir, I don't know her though she reminded me of someone for a moment." He could feel his partner's eyes on him and knew if he met them what question would be on display. "You were saying, Sir?"
The Old Man harrumphed, "That was all. Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin, you have your assignment. Good luck." He swiveled his chair around to his communications console, his none too subtle sign that they were dismissed.
"Thank you, Sir," the two agents said in unison as they rose simultaneously and moved toward the exit. Illya stepped aside to allow his senior agent to go ahead of him. They nodded at Lisa Rogers as they walked past. When they entered the hallway, Illya followed Napoleon about fifteen feet before firmly grabbing his upper arm to turn him around.
"I saw you pale when you looked at the file. What was that about if you do not know who the woman is?"
Napoleon made sure they were out of earshot of the other people in the hallway and then said softly, "Remember when we were in Montana a week ago and I had that dream?"
"Da, I had to wake you up. You could not remember what had transpired in the dream. What about it?"
Napoleon held up the file. "This woman, she looks like the woman in that dream. In fact, she looks exactly like her. Seeing that photo gave me the creeps. Like someone stepped on my grave." He began to move to the elevator bank again and once it arrived, the two agents stepped in and Napoleon pressed the button for their floor.
The door slid open and each man went to his desk to clear it in anticipation of their departure. "Today is a first," the Russian said conversationally, "I actually have time to go home and pack a proper suitcase. I trust you will do the same." When he got no response, he looked across the desks to see Napoleon lost in thought. "Did you not hear me?" He threw a pencil onto the desk to get the brunet's attention. "It was only a dream, Napoleon. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Let's go over the assignment now. This woman, French socialite Sabine St. Jacques, is thought to be the satrap leader of a THRUSH nest located in Marseille, France that is allegedly working with a franc counterfeiting ring based in The Principality of Monaco that is headed up by this man," Napoleon stated as he pulled another picture from the file, "Name is Rene' El Saddiq, a half – Arab, half – Frenchman with dual citizenship in Saudi Arabia and France."
Illya took the proffered picture. "Intel reports that Rene' and his group used to just launder their money through the casino in Monte Carlo. Lately, he has gone into business with Sabine. She buys the fake cash for sixty percent of its face value."
"Yup and then Sabine's satrap puts the money into circulation throughout France. Our mission is to stop this unholy alliance before it bankrupt's both France's and Monaco's economies. I will go to Marseille and seduce Sabine into revealing her money pipeline and destroy it while you, Partner Mine, will travel to Nice and Monaco to make contact with El Saddiq, befriend him and then take down his counterfeit operation. If the famous Solo luck is on our side, we'll be sipping a lovely Bordeaux in Paris in less than two weeks."
Illya knew his partner's bravado was him working through a case of nerves, which left him with a vaguely unsettled feeling. I wish I knew more about this dream so I could understand why it is bothering him. "Our flight is at nine tonight. We need to start preparing to leave."
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
They studied their new identities for a couple of hours and then slept the rest of the flight and arrived well – rested at Marseille Provance Airport at nine thirty the next morning. Illya picked up his rental car and began to drive to the Intercontinental Marseille where Napoleon would be staying. As he eased the car onto the A7 toward Marseille, he found some jazz on the radio, set it at a volume suitable for conversation and asked Napoleon, "So, have you memorized your new identity?"
"Of course; my name is Renard Marcel Durand and I am an attaché with the Canadian Consulate in Nice, France. I am in Marseille for a much needed vacation and I have used my connections to wrangle a coveted invitation to Sabine St Jacques' cocktail party at her home on rue de Refuge. Once there, I will use my considerable charms to seduce Miss St Jacques into revealing her THRUSH alliance by intimating that I can be of service. And, to whom am I speaking and sharing my espionage secrets?"
The Russian chuckled as he exited the highway and began to maneuver the streets of Marseille. "You are speaking with Marik Jaworski of Poland a, what do you Americans call it? Oh yes, a trust fund baby who has been partying his way across France and is now traveling from Marseille to Nice to Monaco. I will make contact with El Saddiq in one of his usual haunts and befriend him. We will become such good friends that he will invite me to play baccarat with him and then I will catch him with the counterfeit francs in hand and then he will either tell me what he knows about THRUSH operations in France and Monaco or he will be jailed for a very, very long time. We are here, Renard. Do not forget to check in with me; Standard Operating Procedure." He pulled in front of the InterContinental Hotel and while the doorman opened the passenger door to let Napoleon out, he got out to open the trunk and retrieve Napoleon's bag. Placing it on the sidewalk, he waved goodbye quickly and got back in his car to begin his two hour drive to Nice.