i Summary: Originally written for a "September" challenge.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Man from UNCLE, and no infringement is meant.
Feedback: Yes, please… /i
b Visit Sunny Andalusia /b
Illya Kuryakin sneezed three times in a row.
He was fishing for his handkerchief when his communicator started to beep.
It took some deftness to unearth the damn thing from the BOAC bag before it drew the attention of every single soul in the small i bodega /i . At the same time, he pretended to drop his pocketbook and spill the contents on the floor.
"Kuryakin, here." he growled in the communicator, as he hunched under the table.
"Hey, Tovarich!" Napoleon's voice sounded annoyingly cheerful "Having fun?"
"You have no idea…" bitterly countered the Russian, still pretending to be collecting his scattered belongings.
"Lucky you!" answered Napoleon in jolly obliviousness "You sound a little odd, you know?"
Illya snorted.
"Do I?" he bit back "That may depend on the fact that I've got a gigantic cold…"
"A cold? In Seville? In September?" wondered Napoleon.
Illya rolled his eyes, which almost made him sneeze again.
"A cold. In Seville. In September." he enunciated "And while we are at it, did you call for a sound reason, or just for the sake of small talk?"
Napoleon deprecatively clucked his tongue from across the Atlantic Ocean.
"Colds always make you grumpy." he mused "I take it I choose a bad moment to call?"
"Oh, no!" retorted Illya "unless you call it a bad moment when I'm sitting a table away from my two Thrushies, in a place where everyone and all are smoking cigars and yelling to the top of their lungs…"
"Uh… lousy timing." Napoleon chuckled "On the bright side, your two Thrushies… was that a sneeze?"
"One of many." Illya grumbled "They were nice enough to meet in a pavillion, last night, in the gardens of the Alcàzar. I had to hide outside to eavesdrop, and it was raining cats and dogs. What were you saying about them?"
"Well…" Napoleon was trying to sound apologetic, but Illya could hear him fighting to suppress hilarity "It seems you've been following a… uh… red herring. According to the new intelligence we've gathered, Baldwin's real envoy is meeting the real man from Central in Amalfi Wednesday night."
Illya closed his eyes, and couldn't even heave a long-suffering sigh through his clogged-up nose.
Without a word, he emerged from under the table and scowled murderously at the two he had been stalking.
"You'd better hurry to Alicante. There you'll find a passage to Naples booked for you." Napoleon explained.
"O joy!" muttered Illya, as he motioned to the waiter for the bill.
"Cheer up, will you?" mock-scolded Napoleon "You've got all the luck: there's no time like September to be in Amalfi… Ah, Amalfi!"
"I'll send you a postcard. Out." Illya unceremoniously cut the connection and capped his communicator as the waiter approached. He paid, drained what remained of his i cafè con leche /i and hurriedly stuffed his belonging back in his tourist's bag.
Just as he went out in the merrily pouring rain, a small blue and white motor-coach with a dented bumper screeched to a halt in front of the hotel next door, and a tour-guide in a pink raincoat jumped down, motioning to her flock of six Americans to follow her.
"Here we are!" she chirped, in a high-pitched voice "You will find that September is the best time to be in Seville… this way, Mrs Murchison, please…"
"Visit sunny Andalusia!" Illya muttered to himself and, after sneezing once more, he darted across the square, wishing he had thought of packing an umbrella.
i End /i
