So I recently started watching the Man from UNCLE, and I really love it. This is a bunch of short, unconnected stories about Napoleon and Illya (as well as the other characters). I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I do writing them.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Man from U.N.C.L.E.
The Heat of the Moment Affair
"His alibi is a good one." Illya said, setting the file on their suspect down on the table. "We interviewed guests at the party he claimed to be at, and we've got no less than a dozen people who place him there at the time of the murder."
Mr. Waverly sighed and turned to look at his two agents. Illya was sitting at the table, the suspect file in front of him, while Napoleon was standing behind him, watching Mr. Waverly. "So are you saying you believe we are following the wrong suspect, Mr. Kuryakin?" Mr. Waverly asked Illya.
Illya gave a brief nod. "Yes, sir. Considering the evidence, it seems impossible that he could have murdered the ambassador."
The crime in question was the murder of an ambassador from France who had been murdered in his office not an hour before he was set to meet with UNCLE and share with them valuable information about THRUSH that the French government had acquired. In addition to the obvious tragedy of the man's death, he had been the only one who knew the information he had been planning the share, meaning that potentially valuable intelligence could be lost forever. Napoleon and Illya had been assigned to find the man responsible for the murder, and if possible recover any information that they ambassador might have hidden before his death. So far, the investigation had not been a fruitful one.
"Very well." Mr. Waverly said. "Then I suggest you go find a new suspect and continue your investigation. You're dismissed."
"Thank you, sir." Illya said, standing up. He left Mr. Waverly's office, and Napoleon followed him. "You're being very quiet." Illya observed as they walked down the hall, back towards their own office.
"It doesn't seem right to me, Illya." Napoleon said.
"I told you, he has an alibi. He couldn't have killed the ambassador."
"The man is a known THRUSH agent." Napoleon insisted.
"Yes, he is." Illya agreed. "But he is not responsible for this crime. We have the wrong man. I am certain of it. We have to keep looking." As he spoke, he pulled at the collar of his shirt with discomfort. Napoleon noticed.
"Are you alright?"
"It is far too hot in here." Illya muttered. "Just like everywhere else in this city right now."
Napoleon privately had to agree on this point. It was the middle of summer, and New York City was experiencing a record-breaking heatwave. Headquarters was generally well air-conditioned, but the heat seemed to be seeping through the walls this time. Fans had been set up everywhere, and although that helped, it was still much hotter in the building than anyone wanted. Napoleon was beginning to notice that it was harder on his partner than on most, however. The same thing that allowed Illya to easily get through the winters was now turning on him; he was used to much colder temperatures. It may be hotter than Napoleon was used to, but it was at least three times hotter than what Illya was accustomed to.
"Maybe you should try dressing in lighter clothes." Napoleon suggested, referring to the fact that despite the heat, Illya was dressed in the same manner he always was.
"I will be fine." Illya replied, though he looked agitated. Napoleon knew that it bothered him. He had hoped that their next affair would get them out of New York for a while, but instead they had been assigned the ambassador's murder, trapping them in the city indefinitely. They reached their office and went inside.
"Ok." Napoleon said, sitting down on his desk, "What do you suggest we do now? Because the way I see it, we're at a dead end."
Illya sat down at his own desk. He thought for a moment, and then asked, "Who was the one who found the body again?"
Napoleon reached across his desk and picked up the file on the case. He opened it, rifled through the papers for a moment, and then said, "His secretary. She walked into his office and found him dead at his desk. She said that she had been outside for over three hours, and no one had been in or out."
"Maybe we should go talk to her ourselves." Illya suggested.
"We could do that." Napoleon agreed. "Though I'm not sure it will do any good in the long run. Assuming for a moment that she was telling the truth about no one coming in or out, the real question is how the murderer managed to kill him in the first place."
"Da." Illya said, nodding. "If we can narrow down the method used, it might help us narrow down the list of suspects."
"Some kind of gas?" Napoleon suggested, but Illya shook his head.
"The room was not air-tight. Somebody would have noticed. The body is still being examined by medical, but until I hear otherwise I would think some kind of poison would be most likely."
"Some kind of injected poison?" Napoleon asked.
"Perhaps, but again, that would require somebody getting into the room."
"Right." Napoleon muttered, setting down the file and leaning back in his chair. "Which brings us back to square one."
They were both silent for a minute or so, both lost in their own thoughts. That silence was broken by Illya letting out a groan and laying his head down on the desk. "Is there no way to lower the temperature in here?"
"You could undress." Napoleon said, grinning. "I'm sure none of the female agents would mind."
Illya raised his head and gave him an extremely annoyed look. "You know, your judgement of when to tell a joke and when to be serious is very lacking."
"I apologize." Napoleon told him, smirking. "Though I was only half joking. They probably wouldn't complain. Most of them find you very attractive." He smiled lessened somewhat. "Although Mr. Waverly probably wouldn't be thrilled..."
Illya sat up. "I think I'll keep my clothes on, thank you, Napoleon." He said. He sighed. "At the very least, it is better here than in my apartment. I had the windows wide open last night, trying to coax in a breeze that never made an appearance."
Napoleon suddenly sat straight as he thought about what Illya had just said. "That's it!" He said. "It's been hot! The ambassador probably had the same idea you did, and had the windows in his office open..."
"...allowing an assassin the perfect way inside." Illya finished for him, understanding. "Yes, that's good. Someone could have come through the window, or shot poison darts from the neighboring building." He stood up, as did Napoleon. "We should go to medical first, see what they've found while examining the body. Then we'll go to the ambassador's office and examine the crime scene again." He wiped the sweat of his brow with his hand as he spoke.
"You're not going to pass out on me on the way over, are you?" Napoleon asked somewhat worriedly as he observed his Russian partner.
Illya shook his head. "I am fine." He declared, almost defiantly. "Come on." He left the office, and Napoleon followed him.
As they walked through headquarters, Napoleon suddenly stopped to look in the doorway of one of the offices for Section IV agents. Illya realized that he was no longer with him and backtracked several steps, a look a visual annoyance on his face. "What is it now?" He asked.
"Look." Napoleon said, pointing. Illya looked inside the office. What seemed to be the entirety of Section IV was crowded around one desk, where a few of the agents appeared to have smuggled in a large amount of ice cream and were passing it out to people.
"That must be against regulation." Illya said, crossing his arms. "I doubt Mr. Waverly knows about this."
"Forget regulation, it's over a hundred degrees outside." Napoleon dismissed. "They deserve it. Actually," He glanced at Illya, "You could use some of that. We both could."
"I do not want any ice cream." Illya said, but Napoleon knew his well enough to tell that inside he secretly thought Napoleon was right. "Besides, they seem to be very possessive of it. They are dividing it amongst their coworkers. I doubt there is any for us."
"Oh, I don't know." Napoleon said thoughtfully. "The one who is passing it out is the nice girl who tried to get you to go to dinner with her last week. I bet she would give you a bowl in exchange for a kiss."
Illya rolled his eyes. "Napoleon, if you think it is so important to get ice cream, then why don't you kiss her?"
Despite the blatant bite of sarcasm in his voice, Napoleon nodded seriously. "Very well then. I will." Before Illya could argue, he had strode across the room and over to the agent who was handing out ice cream. He said something to her, nodding briefly in Illya's direction, and then gave her a kiss. He returned a few moments later a placed a small bowl of vanilla ice cream into Illya's hands. "There you go." He said happily. "I told you she would give us ice cream."
"There are two of us." Illya said. "I count only one bowl of ice cream."
"I have never doubted your ability to count, Illya. Please do not doubt mine." He winked and then started walking back over to the table.
Illya rolled his eyes again and put a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. He had to admit, it was probably going to help. Not that he would tell Napoleon that.
I don't know how many of these I will do in total, but there are a lot more to come. Hopefully I will get the next one up soon. Please review!
