Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just borrowed them :) . This is my first story and I hope you enjoy it.
Napoleon was running up the stairs, Illya following close, the Russian was cursing under his breath. How does he do that, wondered the American, marveling at his partner's ability to express his anger even in the most extreme conditions. He himself was too out of breath to curse. While his main preoccupation was escaping from their pursuers, one part of his brain was also focusing on the sound of his partner's footsteps behind him and the stream of expletives he was quietly spitting out in Russian.
Their mission, assigned by Waverly, was to retrieve a file, full of invaluable information, as always. That file was kept in a safe, in a room on the third floor of a five-story mansion. Gaby had provided them with all the information they needed to easily complete the mission. A week earlier, she had approached the mark at a party. Her cover was very convincing and Gaby was a stunning woman so it wasn't long before the man invited her for dinner to his sumptuous -and isolated- countryside mansion. After an impressive dinner -and after spiking his wine with a potent sleeping drug- she had searched the whole house, located the hidden safe and vanished. Her host would wake up the next day, thinking he had passed out from too much wine and she had gone home out of boredom. And even if he was suspicious, nothing was missing so he would soon forget about this botched evening.
Gaby had done her part of the job and was now waiting for them outside in the car. However things were not exactly going as planned. Locating the room and cracking the safe had been easy enough, thanks to Napoleon's nimble fingers. It was when they were getting ready to leave that things had gotten complicated. They had made their way back to the ground floor when they'd realized that they were no longer alone in the mansion.
"Expecting someone, Peril?" Napoleon had whispered as Illya was shooting him a questioning look. The two spies had left the lights off so the rooms were shrouded in darkness. Straining his ear, Napoleon could only make out a whispering voice "Get the file, find them and kill them", then silent footsteps -more than just two men judging by the sound- advancing in their direction.
"Must have seen the flashlights", Illya had whispered while they retreated up the stairs as fast and as silently as they could. Then Napoleon, forgetting that the step leading to the landing was higher than the others had tripped and though Illya's arm had shot out to steady him, he had dropped the file. In the stillness of the house, the heavy cardboard folder hitting the floor had sounded as loud as a gunshot. They 'd heard footsteps running up the stairs and, forgetting all attempts at being furtive, had started galloping up the steps themselves.
The reason why Solo's attention was divided between running and listening to his partner was that a significant part of the insults coming out of Illya's mouth was directed at him.
They reached the fifth floor and located the opening that led to the roof. The house was surrounded with woods, and some thick trees were very close to one side of the roof. Solo was hoping they'd manage to reach a tree and make their way down quickly and, hopefully, undetected. The two spies set foot on the roof and Illya closed the opening behind them. It had been raining and the slates were slippery. The roof was flat for the most part but they would have to be careful on the slanted edges. Napoleon spotted a tree that was really close to the edge of the roof and looked like an excellent candidate for their escape. He tried to reach the nearest branch but it was a bit too high for him and the file was hindering his movements. He looked down and spotted thick bushes not far from the tree. He decided to throw the folder in the bushes. It would be well hidden and he'd retrieve it easily. He would be down in no time, after all. With both hands free now, he proceeded to jump as high as he could to try and catch the branch. Just as he was doing that, his foot slipped on the wet slates and he lost his balance. He felt himself falling, twisted in mid-air and managed to grab the gutter. He was now dangling from the top of the roof. His heart was tap dancing in his chest but at least he was alive.
Illya, who had witnessed Solo's incredible performance, cursed again. Loudly. Seriously did the man have no balance? He rushed to the edge of the roof, dropped to his knees and extended his arm to grab Solo's hand. With his attention focused on the American, he didn't see the blow coming. Something hit him hard on the back of the head, not hard enough to knock him out or cause him to fall over the edge, but still enough to leave him groggy. Illya knew he needed to get up, or at least turn around to face whoever had attacked him, but his brain was foggy and his body refused to cooperate, he hated being so helpless. Before he could recover, an arm was wrapped around his neck and pulled him backwards. His assailant quickly grasped his own biceps, locking the Russian's head in a chokehold, the man then started tightening his grip, his hand pushing on the back of Illya's head, compressing his carotid arteries. Realizing what was happening, Illya feebly reached to grab his opponent's arm but he knew it was too late, the choke was expertly executed and he was already feeling tingly and lightheaded. Black crept into the edges of his vision. A few seconds later, consciousness had left him.
In the meantime, two other men had pulled Napoleon back on the roof and were holding him while a third man was tying his hands together in front of him. His eyes were on Illya. His partner appeared to be unconscious. Another man had him in a chokehold, his legs wrapped around the Russian's chest.
"Well, what do we have here?"
Napoleon's head snapped up in surprise, he hadn't noticed the fourth man approaching. This one seemed to be the leader. Looking at him, Solo felt uneasy. The man was older than him, in his late forties, maybe fifty. He was balding. He was smiling, a warm, almost grandfatherly smile, but something in his eyes told Solo that this man was dangerous.
The newcomer addressed the man who had Illya in a chokehold. "Nice job, he's a big one." He whistled. "You might want to loosen your grip though, we don't want to kill him yet, he could be useful."
His eyes lingered on the unconscious Russian as his subordinate released him and he fell limply to the floor. The henchman then proceeded to roll the big Russian on his stomach and tied his hands behind his back. A few seconds later, Illya began to rouse and looked groggily around him. His eyes were itching. He tried to lift his hands to his face only to realize that he was restrained. His gaze finally focused on Solo and he shot him a questioning look.
Napoleon could almost see the question mark above his head. This would have been comical, had the situation not been so serious. If he was completely honest, Napoleon was as confused as his partner, he asked, "Why are we alive?"
The leader answered, "Well I was going to have you killed at first but then I realized that you have something that belongs to us. See, that file is very important to me and my superiors and I cannot leave without it."
Napoleon remained silent.
"We know that you took the file from the safe, you don't seem to have it with you, which means that you hid it somewhere. Now, my men have been looking everywhere and haven't been able to locate it. So I figured it would save us some time to ask you where you hid it. Then we would kill the two of you and be on our way"
Napoleon almost let out a sigh of relief. The man had said 'the two of you', and Gaby hadn't been brought in yet, no one seemed to be looking for her. She must have seen them coming and she'd abandoned the car to hide in the woods. They must have found the empty car and thought that it was only the two of them. Hopefully Gaby had already left to get reinforcements.
Meanwhile, they needed to buy some time and keep those men away from the file. That information falling into the wrong hands could have disastrous consequences. And those definitely seemed to be the wrong hands.
"I don't know what you are talking about. See my friend and I were lost in the woods when we came across this house. I must admit we were slightly disappointed when we realized that it wasn't made of gingerbread but we didn't steal any file."
The leader smiled, he still had that unnerving glint in his eyes.
"Let's get back inside. It's starting to rain and we will be much more comfortable down there. Then we can find a reasonable way of settling this matter."
One man behind Solo pressed a gun into his back and pushed him forward, he had no choice but to comply. His hands were tied and his own gun had been taken away when the men had pulled him back on the roof. Two of the goons were aiming guns at Illya's back and pushing him toward the opening that led to the roof. Other men were waiting inside, their guns trained on the Russian, in case he tried something.
There was almost a small army of them. Who were these men? Napoleon was getting worried.
End of the first chapter :)
