With the confidence of any wealthy international jet-setter, Napoleon Solo strode into the lobby of the Monte Carlo Casino resort. Behind him, struggling under the weight of four suitcases was his partner, who was in the guise of his personal valet.
The resort was 'the' place to be for anyone who was someone, which Napoleon was passing himself off to be, a carefree playboy just oozing money.
The casino was owned and operated by Société des bains de mer de Monaco a public company in which the Monaco government and the ruling family had a majority interest. The company also owned the principal hotels, restaurants and nightclubs throughout the country of Monaco. Everything they controlled screamed luxury.
The American was dressed impeccably in a fitted designer suit and wearing a pair fine Italian made shoes as he sauntered into the lobby. He completely looked the part of his cover identity.
"Will you please come along with those suitcases Waldobert!" Napoleon snapped. "Why I hired you, I will never know. Wait I do know; I did it out of the goodness of my heart giving you a job and now you show your ingratitude by scuffing up my leather luggage."
"Sorry Mein Herr ." Illya nearly tripped over one of the bags.
"I'm not kidding," Napoleon whispered out the side of his mouth."That really is high end leather. It was needed to help give the impression of me of being a wealthy globetrotter since they look sleek and expensive."
"Fine," Illya huffed, keeping his voice down."I will be more careful." He almost uttered Sieg Hall, but even he couldn't bring himself to say something that crass as it was associated with the Hitler salute. Given his horrendous childhood experience with Nazis during the war, he had no idea why it even came to mind.
He suddenly envisioned Napoleon goose stepping as he barked his orders; he'd been that the entire trip on the train from Paris. Napoleon was playing the part of an obnoxious rich American to the tee. Illya understood that.
Still his partner was going somewhat overboard with bossing him around and talking down to him. Napoleon was getting a bit too deeply into his role for this assignment.
Once they checked in at the front desk, they took the elevator up to Napoleon's suite. He was registered under the name of Michael Prince, heir to a wealthy American shipping line who was just oozing money. Illya signed in as Waldobert Hühnerbein , the cover name Solo had chosen for him. Waldobert was bad enough but last name translated to…' chicken leg.'
Illya planned to get even for that one.
The accomodations were opulent...the furnishing, carpeting, drapes were silk with French provincial furnishings. The master suite the pastel color scheme changed with the addition of a shades of blue and gold.
It seemed quite regal to Napoleon, especially with the large crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It was much more impressive than the one in the sitting room.
Illya carried three of the four suitcases to the bedroom where he left them for his partner.
He carried his valise to his own room. It was small, a servant's quarters off the sitting room so one would be nearby at the master's beck and call, day or night.
The room suited him as it was simple and not the materialistic stylings that Napoleon so admired.
There was a twin bed covered by a white chenille bedspread, next to it stood a single night table of dark wood that matched the headboard and there was also a three drawer dresser. The closet was adequate, though he had only a few things to hang up in it. Inside it was an ironing board and iron. After all, guest services were very limited for the hired help. There was a door that led to a tiny bathroom containing a basin, toilet and shower stall with a plastic shower curtain.
"Pretty impressive digs huh tovarisch?" Napoleon called.
Napoleon proceeded to unpack his suitcases and hang up his tuxedos, one with a white jacket, the other black, tails for evening wear, and for slightly less formal daytime occasions, a morning suit that consisted of a mid-grey matching morning coat, waistcoat, and trousers. This was in addition to a half dozen tailored suits, sports jackets and casual trousers as well as a smoking jacket. He had five pair of shoes besides the ones he was wearing.
Silk shirts, silk pajamas, robe, and slippers... of course high end undergarments, socks, garters for the socks, belts, braces, silk ties, ascots as well as several pairs of white gloves
He set a jewelry case out on his dresser that was filled with gold, silver and platinum cufflinks, tie bars, expensive watches as well as several rings set with diamonds. Nothing ostentatious, but tasteful.
"Impressive? "Illya parrotted back."More like bourgeois and decadent."
It had taken the Russian only a few minutes to hang up his two suits, an extra grey uniform just like the one he was wearing. Several white shirts, black ties, and black turtlenecks. His underwear and black socks went in the dresser, his shaving kit, gun cleaning kit as well as some extra magazines went into the night table drawer.
He set a canvas bag on the floor of the closet; that contained plastic explosives, fuses and detonators, just in case they were needed; one never knew when the occasion might present itself for a nice explosion.
"Hey it's all about the image pal," Napoleon shot back.
"You do remember that all of your trappings must be returned to the wardrobe department when this mission is over."
"Yeah, it's a shame as I could get used to this, "Solo turned, admiring his profile in a gilt full length mirror. "I'm a little envious of people who get to live like this all the time."
Still who is Wardrobe going to get all of this to fit just perfectly other than me? So I imagine I'll have opportunity to wear some of these clothes again when the need arises.
"I suppose that means borrowing it for one of your hot dates?"
"Why not?"
"You have, to use one of your sayings,'champagne taste and a beer pocketbook."
"Thanks, rub it in wise guy."
"You are most welcome." Illya yawned. "If you do not mind I am going to lie down and take a nap. Being your valet is tiresome."
"I do mind Waldo. Not so fast; we need to go down to the casino and let ourselves or more precisely, me be seen."
Napoleon walked into his bathroom to freshen up, taking note that it was bigger than Illya's entire room.
"Why did you have to give me such an idiotic name?" Kuryakin called out.
"Because you weren't around when our identity and travel documents were being arranged. I just drew some names out of a hat, so to speak," Napoleon snickered.
"Da, konechno, " Illya mumbled in Russian under his breath, basically it was the equivalent of a sarcastic, 'Yeah, sure.'
"Come on, Mr. Cranky, let's get going. And don't forget your papers; may I remind you the citizens of Monaco are forbidden to enter the gaming rooms. You might be mistaken for a local."
"I should only be so lucky," Illya grumbled.
Napoleon needed to do some gambling and show that he had the money to do it. He spent hours, winning and losing, but mostly winning.
That paved the way for him to sit at the Big Table Baccarat game which was located in a more secluded area off the main casino floor.
It was a separate room with a bar along with tables and chairs for those who wished to observe the game from a respectable distance.
The buy-in was $250,000. This was high stakes and as Solo's chips were neatly organized in front of him, he cast a quick glance to Illya who was standing outside the gated gaming table. He wasn't permitted inside as it was players only, and for that reason he stood close to the bar, but didn't drink. He had to remain alert.
And so the game went, with Napoleon losing a lot of money, but it was worth it as he was able to observe the tell of each of the other players. There was one player he was interested in, and it wasn't a man.
She was the Countess Maria Concetta Di Liberto, a woman as deadly as she was chocolate brown hair glistened with tiny diamonds pinned into it, and she definitely took notice of Solo. The woman was aglow in a Grecian style dress made of shimmering gold lamé; draped around her throat was a necklace of dazzling bright green pear-shaped emeralds, surrounded by double rows of diamonds. No doubt they were the best quality emeralds from Columbia; gracing her ears were the matching accessories.
Once the gambling was done for the evening the Contessa made her way over to Napoleon.
"You did not have much luck tonight Signor…"
"Prince, Michael Prince." Napoleon took her offered hand and kissed the back of it.
"Oh how cosmopolitain for an American, unlike your vulgar compatriot .He has to gp."
She was referring to a man named Bill Bronco from Houston Texas who was at the baccarat table as well. He made his fortune in oil and didn't hesitate letting people know. He was crass, to say the least and the Contessa found him most irritating.
"I try," Napoleon flashed that charming smile of his like a secret weapon that could disarm most women.
" Signor Prince, I am…"
"Countess Maria-Concetta Di Liberto, and your reputation precedes you."
"What reputation might that be Mr. Prince?" She fluttered her long eyelashes, flirting with him.
"I heard you were a woman of great beauty, but what was said doesn't do you justice Countess."
"You flatter me; most men sweet-talk me because they want something from me. Do you want something from me Signor Prince?"
"Perhaps only the pleasure of your company. I'm here in Monte Carlo for the week, then it's off to the ski with my friend Snooky in the Swiss Alps." Solo had done his research well and knew the two were friends.
"Snooky Witherspoon?" She laughed.
"The one and only," Napoleon bluffed.
"I haven't seen Snooky in ages. How is he?"
"I ummm, haven't seen him either. That's why I made plans to meet up with him."
"Oh, you like being around his kind Signor Prince?"
"His kind? To what you referring?"
"Surely you must know? Snooky, in spite of his misogynistic mistreatment of women still has to fend them off. They are drawn to him like moths to a flame! Perhaps it is because he is the embodiment of danger. Women like dangerous men I think. Lucky for them Snooky never stays around for very long."
"And you Contessa, does he mistreat you?"
"He wouldn't dare! Snooky knows how powerful a friend I can be...so you Signor Prince, are you a dangerous man?"
He glanced over at Illya who was discreetly tapping his wristwatch.
"All in good time to get to know each other better Contess, for now I must leave you as it's been a long day and I am quite fatigued. Drinks and dinner tomorrow perhaps, after the next Baccarat?"
"I would be delighted. Until tomorrow then, Signor Mic-hele. " She called him by his first name, with the Italian pronunciation for Michael.
He kissed her hand again as he bowed his good night.
Solo raised his right arm up into the air, snapping his fingers as he walked from the gaming room to the hotel lobby. Illya took his cue and moved quickly after him with his head raised high. He had to play the role of subservient valet, but he refused to act the part of a groveling underling.
The elevator was crowded as they took it up to their floor in silence. Just for effect, for the sake of the other guests in the hallway, Napoleon snapped his fingers again in a silent order for Illya to unlock the door go the hotel suite.
" Waldobert, make sure my breakfast is served precisely at 9:00 tomorrow morning. Croissants, lobster benedict, orange juice and coffee. Don't forget the champagne and caviar this time. Get it wrong and I swear I will let you go."
"As you wish mein herr ," Illya bowed his head in obeisance. Since he'd been given a very German cover identity, he had to affect the appropriate accent.
As soon as the door was closed and locked, Illya went at him. His voice was hushed but seething, lest the other guests hear him.
"Must you? I am not your servant, regardless of my role in this affair. There is no need to continue to order me about like that. You are making too much of a spectacle of yourself. "
"Just playing the role, that's all. Don't take it personally. I need to ensure that I'm noticed among the ritzy crowd here. I'm treating you no differently than I've seen and heard some of these rich bitches and bastards treat their help."
Illya said nothing as he stormed into his room, slamming the door after himself.
Seconds later it opened and a blond head peeked out.
"And you can order your own bloody breakfast tomorrow! May I remind you that Mr. Waverly said you did not have carte blanche on this assignment." He closed the door, not waiting for an answer.
Illya stripped out of his uniform and hung it up, though the shirt would have to be laundered. He had enough with him to make do for now.
Turning on the shower, he climbed in under the jet of hot water and let it soothe his tired muscles. The train ride, dragging around the luggage, and then having to spend the evening standing like a useless mannequin was the final straw that broke the camel's back, on top of Napoleon's over acting.
There had to be a better way than just waiting around, being his partner's lackey while he was working his way to wooing that woman. If it went Napoleon's way, it would cost the Command a lot of money.
Instead, Illya thought he had a better idea about how to accomplish the mission.
The next morning, Kuryakin trundled out from his room; his blond hair askew that was a tell tale sign of a restless night.
Napoleon was sitting at the dining table that was draped in a white linen tablecloth. Covered dishes abounded and there was a carafe of coffee, and one with hot water for tea.
"Good morning sleepy head, hungry?"
"Famished." Illya lifted one of the covers, finding scrambled eggs with cheese, another containing American style bacon and sausages. There were kippers, mushrooms, toast and croissants. Both tomato and orange juice as well.
"What happened to the lobster benedict, champagne and caviar?"
"That was just part of the act...Illya I'd like to apologize to you. I have been getting a bit too deeply into this undercover role. I have to say the setting, the money here are a powerful lure and part of me is a bit envious of the lifestyle. Can you forgive me for going a bit overboard?"
Illya smiled. "Of course I can, you are my friend and friends can be cross with each other sometimes. As long as reconciliation follows our disagreements. He offered his hand to his partner and the two shook on it.
The sat together, enjoying breakfast. Illya was most pleased that there was seedless raspberry jam for his tea, and a very nice tea it was. Given their surroundings, it really wasn't a surprise.
He picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled on it. "So your plan is to simply seduce the Contessa?"
"That's it. She thinks every man wants something from her and I have to prove to her that I don't...even though I do. I'm going to have to play it a little cool with her. No wooing just yet, if you get my drift. I want her to think she's seducing me."
Illya took a sip of his tea,"And how will this get her to reveal where she keeps the key?"
"It won't, but once we become intimate I plan to use a knockout drug on her, most likely in a glass of champagne. That'll give me plenty of time to search her suite."
As Kuryakin raised his eyebrows his brow furrowed. "And what do you want me to do?"
"Just watch my back. If she becomes suspicious, she'll kill me like that," Napoleon snapped his fingers. "Of that I'm sure. She has a reputation for making her lovers disappear."
"Then may I ask if we might consider taking a less dangerous approach?
"I'm listening."
"While you are in the casino playing baccarat I will break into her room and search for the key. I am after all, adept at being a second story man."
There was a twinkle in the Russian's blue eyes that Solo knew only too well.
Napoleon scrunched up his face while he thought it over; not that it was bad idea but ...
"Let's make that plan B. If I'm unable to seduce her, though I doubt I'll have a problem, then we'll do it your way."
Illya merely nodded as he finished his second cup of tea.
They showered and dressed, Napoleon was a bit more casual in a pair of linen pants, a white polo shirt and a tennis sweater trimmed in red and blue tied around his neck, though he didn't plan in joining any tennis matches.
Illya went for a black suit, white shirt and black tie. He wore a pair of oversized aviator sunglasses; that made him look more like a bodyguard than a valet, just the effect he was going for.
Heading down to the casino, Napoleon decided to try his hand at craps, where he did quite well. The management raised the limit for the table and he managed to win back quite a bit of what he lost at baccarat the night before.
It felt good, and boosted his confidence.
There was no sign of the Contessa and finishing up his gambling, the winnings were deposited in an account that had been set up for him, after which he went to the front desk to inquire after the woman.
"Is Contessa Di Liberto still here?"
"But of course Monsieur Prince", the clerk leaned forward, whispering discreetly," Madame is a late riser. There is however, a message from her in your mailbox."
Napoleon nodded as it was handed to him, and smiled as he read it. He turned to Illya, announcing what it said.
"Seems I'm invited for lunch; 1:00 with the Contessa at a very exclusive restaurant called 'Henri's'. Apparently she couldn't wait to get to know me over dinner and drinks tonight after baccarat."
"She has taken the bait then for sure," Illya whispered.
Henri's was an intimate and quite romantic bistro, so named after the chef.
Napoleon arrived exactly on time, again kissing the Contessa on the hand before seating himself opposite restaurant was but a ten minute taxi ride and nestled in a shady alleyway near the palace.
She was was wearing a pale lavender dress made of a delicate cloth. It was so sheer that he could see that she wore a rather sexy cream colored chemise beneath it. A matching wide brimmed lavender hat rested atop her head with her hair having been pinned up for the occasion. A pair of large white mabé pearls adorned her earlobes, her neck was bare, but on her fingers were glistening diamond and pearl rings.
"So glad you could join me Mic-hele."
"As am I Contessa. You've eaten here before?"
"Of course; nothing but the best. What better way for me to get to know you than over an exquisite gourmet meal. Henri is a close, personal friend and I adore his cuisine. None of the local slop they try to pass off as epicurean in some restaurants. And please...call me Pucci."
"An adorable nickname, though I'm not familiar with it in Italian."
"Oh it's just a pet name, and has no meaning. Now back to the matter of the chef. I have spoken at length with Henri, inquiring as to how he creates such delightful treats for the palate. He said to me that ideas stream every day. A flavor, a shape, a color, a fragrance but that's only a starting point. Instinct and experience transform desires."
"Truly the words of a gastronomic artiste," Napoleon smiled. "Please, since you are so familiar with the chef, perhaps you should order for both of us?"
"Bene ," she smiled and gestured for the waiter.
"Mais oui Contessa?"
"We will began with Scallops in a lentil vinaigrette. For the main course, calamari a la plancha served with zucchini. Are the squash locally grown?"
He assured her they were.
Napoleon chose the wine, Picpoul de Pinet, a dry crisp white, which the Contessa approved of wholeheartedly.
They conversed about Monaco at first, and the Contessa mentioned her chateau in Paris, and went on about her beautiful villa outside Rome. It was simple chit chat, but the more Napoleon spoke about himself and his activities as he supposedly spent a carefree life traveling around the globe, the more she became interested in him.
"Perhaps tonight after baccarat we can enjoy champagne and oysters after our supper?" She suggested.
Napoleon nodded his approval, though he was a little concerned. She was moving a bit faster than he had anticipated.
"But him, she nodded towards Kuryakin who was seated on a bench not far away. It was where the help were permitted to remain while their employers dined.
"Must he be there tonight? One would think he is a bodyguard and not your valet." She looked directly at the Russian this time, not concerned if he heard her.
"He actually serves as a bodyguard as well. Though I can take care of myself, still when one is rich it is better to err on the side of caution."
"He doesn't look as though he could, how do you Americans say...fight his way out of a paper bag. There is something about him though that I don't like. Maybe it's those eyes of his, always watching."
"He's a lot stronger than he appears, and is fast on his feet. Still he's not the brightest."Napoleon tapped his temple with an index finger. "I keep him around out of the goodness of my heart."
"How charming."
"And what about you? Do you ever use personal security? I would think a woman of your importance would find it a necessity."
"I'm afraid I do, though having someone follow you around, other than a maid, is so tiresome. My bodyguard is seated at the table behind us. His name is Bruno...a brute of a man, but he has his uses."
Bruno was dressed exactly the same as Kuryakin, as if it were a requirement for a bodyguard to wear a black suit. One difference though was that he wore a fedora, even though he was indoors. It made him look a gangster or mafioso…
As lunch concluded, Napoleon and the Contessa had cappuccino and a Lavender Crème brûlée for dessert, apparently her favorite.
She opened her clutch bag and drew out a cigarette holder to which she inserted a slim cigarette.
Napoleon immediately produced a gold lighter and lit it for her.
She slowly exhaled one puff of smoke and took a small gold ladies pocket watch from her purse; looking at the time, she seemed surprised.
"Oh dear will you look that? I must be off dear Mic-hele. I have an appointment with Giorgio Bulgari, he's flown in to show me some of his latest jewelry creations. He's thinking about opening a showroom here in Monte Carlo. All the rich and famous would no doubt flock to it. I prefer private showings myself, none of this rubbing elbows with people ... shopping."
"Time flies when you're having fun."
"Ti adoro!" She laughed ever so softly. "Potrei guardarti tutto il giorno!"
"You adore me? Now you flatter me". The rest of what she said, telling him that she could look at him all day, made him a bit queasy. The Contessa was a dangerous one and that was a side of her he hoped not to encounter
Napoleon paid for lunch and rose to hold her chair.
" A presto , Mic-hele. I look forward to beating you at the gaming table tonight, but perhaps it is afterward that I look forward to even more."
"I will hold my breath in anticipation... Pucci. " Napoleon blew a gentle kiss to her and watched as she and Bruno walked outside, disappearing into the crowd.
Napoleon and Illya met by the door. "I think it's going to happen tonight tovarisch."
"Good, the sooner we get this over with, the happier I will be." His stomach rumbled. "Might I get something to eat here before we head back"
"Here? You've got to be kidding. Lunch cost an arm and a leg. You can order room service when we get to the hotel," Napoleon winked.
"It will still be costly."
"Not as much as this place."
Once back in their room Illya indeed ordered his lunch and it was served there in the suite. A nice bouillabaisse made with various kinds of fish, then braised sea bass from Cape Corsica, roasted on skin. cauliflower velouté with caviar Avruga and champagne sauce. Avruga wasn't actually caviar as it didn't contain fish roe but was a gourmet substitute for the real thing
One could hardly avoid eating such rich food, since the Monte Carlo resort would serve nothing but the best to its rich cliente. Illya behaved himself, not ordering too much.
Accompanying the meal was a strong espresso, as he knew it was going to be a late night. He passed on dessert.
Napoleon stepped out onto his balcony to have a quick smoke. He usually had nerves of steel when it came to deliberately seducing a woman for the sake of the mission, but in this case she was deadlier than any other female of the species he'd lured into bed, even Angelique of Serena.
The problem was that the Contessa was quickly taking the initiative and perhaps that's what was bothering him. He preferred to be the one doing the driving, so to speak.
Now he'd have to be intimate with her tonight, on her terms and not his. Still, he could use the knockout drug, but the question was should he do it before or after they made love? Somehow none of it felt right anymore.
Solo walked back inside, amazed to see his partner had already finished his lunch.
Illya saw his bemused look. "I told you I was hungry."
"I've been doing some thinking tovarisch. Maybe your plan might be the better idea after all. Tonight when we're at the baccarat table you can do your thing."
"What made you change your mind?,"Illya wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and rose from the table.
"Intuition."
"Oh." Kuryakin knew not to question is partner's gut feelings. "I will need to get some supplies to play at being a cat burglar... rope, grappling hook, suction cups and a glass cutter."
He quickly washed up and was out the door within minutes.
The baccarat table opened at nine o'clock for the high stakes players, with the buy-in raised to $350,000 for the returning players.
Almost everyone from the previous night's gaming was there and that Napoleon felt was in his favor; no figuring out there 'tells.' The Contessa was the last to arrive, with the exception of Billy Bronco; he was nowhere to be seen.
Napoleon wondered what had happened to the loud mouthed American, and just as that thought entered his mind, he heard Illya's voice in his right ear; Solo was wearing a small earbud receiver.
Kuryakin, still in his black suit, but now wearing a black turtleneck was standing near the bar again.
"I just heard your missing American player was found dead in his suite. No sign of violence though. Odd that the Contessa took quite a dislike to the man and now he ends up dead."
Napoleon couldn't respond of course, but that bit of news reinforced his instincts even more. Each side of the table was managed by a dealer who was in charge of handling the game action. The dealers gave the players their chips when they joined the table, traded chips for them, paid out winning bets and collected a commission at the end of each shoe.
A third dealer, also referred to as the caller, stodd opposite to the seated dealers in the middle of the table. The caller was in charge of urging players to place their wagers, calling for the cards for Player or Bank, and announced the winning bets. The three dealers each took turns rotating positions around the Baccarat table.
The game began and it moved quickly, hot and heavy.
"$300,000 from Banker. Who will match? "
"Cards if you please," Napoleon said.
"Eight"
"And nine from Banker "
$600,000 from Banker, sir."
"Who matches Banker? "
"$600,000," the Contessa said.
" Banker follows..."
"Cards, bitte, " said the next player, a German.
"Card, if you please," a British player asked.
"Nine to Banker "
"I pass." Napoleon said.
It was then Illya discreetly left and headed up to the hotel suite to retrieve his supplies.
He put everything in his canvas bag and went out to the balcony. Quickly swinging the rope with the grappling hook at the end, it took him only one try to catch it on the ledge of the roof.
After giving it a few tugs to test it, he slung the canvas bag over his shoulder and began his ascent. Once he reaching the rooftop he moved the hook farther along the ledge and proceeded to lower himself to the Contessa's balcony.
The French doors were locked from the inside, After taking a suction cup from the bag he attached it to the glass, and used the glass cutter to incise a circle large enough through which he could slip his hand to turn the lock.
After completing the cutting he held onto the suction cup he gave the glass a light tap with the handle of the cutter and voila, the piece came away.
Illya reached inside, quickly opening the lock...a simple toggle, and turned the handle, letting himself inside,
The lights were already on, so there was no need for him to use a flashlight.
As soon as he took one step inside Kuryakin felt a gun barrel pressed into his back. Spinning round, he disarmed the man, but a moment later Illya was struck in the back of the head with the butt of a gun...
Baccarat concluded with Napoleon being the big winner and after depositing his earnings he was joined by the Contessa.
"Mic-hele, eri un cattivo ragazzo," she whispered to him as she latched onto his arm.
"Me a naughty boy? Perché Pucci?"
"Because you took all my money, that's why."
"Oh cara mia, you'll have a chance to win it all back tomorrow."
"So true," she smiled wickedly."Now let's forget about money and have that supper in my suite. Champagne, caviar, paté and...oysters first I think I've been so in the mood for them since I met you. Then we can decide if we want more food, or...something else. A bit of amore, perhaps?"
"But of course Pucci," he took her hand in his and kissed it. " Sei bellissima.
"Mic-hele, I have been told I am beautiful by many men, but coming from you, well I could become accustomed to that. Now andiamo, andiamo...let's go!"
Napoleon couldn't refuse her request, especially since he'd already suggested they dine together after tonight's game. He hadn't heard from Illya in quite a while and only hoped his partner located the key and had gotten out.
Together Napoleon and the Contessa rode the elevator up to her suite, and after opening the door, she was greeted by Bruno and another of her bodyguards...she never told her intended lover there was a second one.
"Signora Di Liberto , I am afraid you are being deceived by Signor Prince, or whatever his name is. I found this one breaking in here from the balcony." Bruno held up the unconscious Russian by the back of his jacket. Illya was as limp as a ragdoll."
The Countess shrank back from Napoleon, shrieking aloud, "Impostore! I knew you were too good to be true! "
"I'm not an impostor Pucci. I hired that man out of the goodness of my heart, but I didn't tell you that he came from a bit of a shady background...wait, this makes sense."
"What are you babbling about?" She demanded.
"There's been several robberies in Monte Carlo in the last few days, a cat burglar the authorities said. When I was in the Cannes, and then Nice a string of burglaries happened there as well. They called whoever was doing it 'the Cat.' I wonder…"
The Contessa's eyes widened. "That scrawny bit of a man is the Cat. I have heard of that nome della guerra as well. Still, Mic-hele, I think you are not being honest with me."
"Does this look like the face of a liar?" Napoleon flashed her a puppy dog look.
"Yes and I think you take me for a fool!" Her tone of voice changed. "Bruno, throw 'the Cat' over the balcony; I'm sure even with nine lives, he won't survive the fall. You Vincenzo, will do the same to Signor Prince."
She leaned in, planting a kiss on Solo's lips. "Arrivederci bello. Such a waste."
At that instant Illya, who had been playing possum, sprang into action.
He swung upwards with a tightly clenched fist, slamming into Bruno's jaw, catching him off guard.
Not taking any chances, he grabbed the man in a headlock. Bending him forward, Illya twisted his arm and jerked Bruno's neck, yanking it in a diagonally upward movement and snapping it. Such an injury to the the C1 and C2 vertebra, the first two from the base of the skull down, was often referred to as a hangman's fracture and always fatal.
It was not an action taught to him by the Command. Such a cold and calculating move had been part of his training by his Soviet Union masters.
If he and Solo got home in one piece from this assignment, Illya was sure he would catch hell from Waverly for doing it…
As soon as Kuryakin made his move, Napoleon sprang into action, taking out Vincenzo with a non- lethal karate chop.
"You were right Pucci...well half right. We, Mr. Kuryakin and I...oh by the way the name's Solo, Napoleon Solo; we're both impostori."
"You think you have me at a disadvantage Mr. Solo?" The Contessa was holding a small silver revolver in her hand.
She never saw it coming. A knife thrown by Kuryakin, that he had hidden in the back of his jacket; luckily Bruno missed it. He'd been foolish enough not to search the Russian for weapons since Illya had been rendered unconscious.
The knife found its mark, hitting the woman in her hand, and sending the gun flying. Napoleon and Illya immediately cornered her.
"You'll pay for this!" She hissed.
"I think you have that backwards Madame," Illya said as he wrapped her injured hand in a linen napkin after removing his knife.
"So this was all about robbing me enh?" She looked at Solo.
"Robbery, no not really. We're not interested in your gems and jewels. We've been sent to take back something that you stole,"Napoleon said.
She swallowed hard, knowing exactly what he was talking about.
"I suppose you'll be wanting the key then?"
"Precisely... Pucci."
"Very well then, but my cooperation keeps me from going to prison, yes?"
"That will be up to the courts,"Illya said.
"This coming from a man who just murdered by bodyguard in cold blood?'
"In our line of work it is sometimes necessary. We, like MI6 are also issued a license to kill," Illya coldly responded. Now the key if you please?"
"There on the table, the copy of Paradise Lost," she pointed.
Napoleon opened it, finding it hollowed out, and there it was, the safety deposit box key conveniently wrapped in a paper with the box number and the address of a bank in the Paris.
The intel UNCLE had received was that the Contessa had taken possession of stolen bank plates used for printing currency for several European countries. The thefts had been kept under wraps, lest they create a panic and the collapse of financial markets round the world.
"So you wanted to print your own money? Weren't you rich enough Contessa?" Solo asked
"Never, my title brought me attention, but all that money would have allowed me to reign like a queen in this hell hole of a world. To quote Signor Milton, ' it is better to reign in Hell, than to serve in Heaven."
"Ahhhh, but 'the mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven," Napoleon quoted Milton right back to her.
The Contessa was taken into custody and flown to Paris where she was held at UNCLE headquarters there. Eventually she'd be turned over to INTERPOL.
The plates were retrieved by Solo and Kuryakin and the fact that there were no traces of ink on any of them was convincing enough that they hadn't been used...yet. They would be returned to their respective countries with only a few aware of what had happened to them. Disaster averted.
While at headquarters, a video conference was set up with Mr. Waverly and their report was made.
"Gentlemen," Waverly smiled as he puffed away on his Briar pipe." I'd like to congratulate you on a job well done. Mr. Solo, I'm also pleased that you managed not to damage any of that expensive wardrobe with which you were supplied. Be sure it is returned when you arrive in New York, along with all of your winnings as well as the seed money."
"Winnings sir?" Napoleon hedged.
"Yes, the million dollars you managed to enmass on top of the half million you were given with which to gamble."
"Oh, those winnings." The Old Man didn't miss a trick.
"Sir," Illya interrupted."The monies in question, which were deposited in an account in Monte Carlo Casino, will arrive via bank transfer to the UNCLE coffers, and should credit this afternoon. I arranged it before we left Monaco."
Napoleon gave his partner the stink eye for just a split second.
"Excellent Mr. Kuryakin. I will see you both upon your return to New York, after which I will expect your written reports."
"Yes sir," they responded in unison."
"Waverly out."
"Easy come, easy go,"Napoleon sighed.
"Well, Mr. Waverly did not specifically say when we were supposed to return to New York," Illya crossed his arms in front of himself. "And we are not that far from the Côte d'Azur."
"How much money do you have on you, Illya my friend?" There was a twinkle in Solo's eyes.
"Enough to let you do some gambling, but with two caveats."
"Oh boy, here it comes."
"One, if you lose you still owe me the money I loaned you to gamble, and two, if you win, you will split the winnings with me."
"Hmmm, becoming quite the little Shylock aren't you?"
"I see no need for you to insult me. Those are my terms, take it or leave it," the Russian deadpanned.
"Done!" Napoleon held out his hand, and the two shook.
Illya didn't see that Solo had crossed his fingers on his other hand, as it was hidden behind his back.
"Just what do you do with all your money tovarisch? I never see you spend it." He looked down at his much shorter partner's eyes, acting a little smug.
"You never see me spend it because I am always loaning it to you my friend."
"Point taken…" Solo's demeanor changed.
"Now if you lose you can take heart in that I will not charge you a penalty for being a little late to pay me back. Remember, I said a little."
"And how much is 'a little' Monsieur Banquier?"
Illya flashed him that infamous blue eyed glare.
"Again, point taken, tovarisch."