Napoleon was beginning to get nervous as he drove in his jeep from the outskirts of Marrakesh. There was a tracking unit built in under the dashboard capable of picking up a signal at a greater distance than his hand held homing device, but even that equipment had it's limitations.
He pulled his communicator from his khaki shirt, opening it then placing it in his breast pocket enabling him to keep both his hands on the steering wheel while navigating the poor roads as the farther he got from the city.
"Open Channel D-overseas relay-Waverly."
"Yes Mr. Solo, what is your status?"
"Dr. Kadiri is dead of an apparent heart attack. The lab and all the equipment therein have also been destroyed, but the diamonds and Mr. Kuryakin seem to be missing."
"Missing you say? You are not intimating that Mr. Kuryakin has absconded with these are you Mr. Solo?"
"Illya taking them...you mean for himself? No no sir, I found his Walther and communicator there in the lab and given I ran into several Thrush guards sir, I'm thinking he did as well. There was broken broken lab equipment when I arrived and what looked like signs of a struggle."
"It seems that the visitors from Central may have arrived sooner than we anticipated."Waverly said.
"Yes sir, right now I'm tracking a homing signal from a disc that was hidden Mr. Kuryakin's his clothing. The signal is weak so whoever has him is on the move, heading southeast towards the Sahara is my best guess."
"Well catch up to them post haste Mr. Solo, retrieve those stones and Mr. Kuryakin of course. The sale of those man-made diamonds could still wreak havoc on the diamond industry as soon as it is revealed they are undetectable fakes and will put all diamonds in questionable light. Thrush may not make great financial gain thanks to you destroying the device but they can most certainly cause financial ruin. Please keep me informed Mr. Solo, Waverly out."
Napoleon maneuvered his communicator from his pocket with one hand, closing it, then continued following the beeping, as a red light flashed on the console, but it was continuing to grow weaker and weaker. Several miles into his trip it finally went dead.
"Damn!" he cursed slamming his hand on the dash. The only thing he could do was keep going in the direction that he'd been heading and hope for the best.
.
The trek through the oppressive heat of the desert sands had become brutal and their captors unrelenting, driving them onward by the crack of their whips. Narcissus learned quickly to keep her mouth closed after being man-handled when her continued complaining had finally worn on the Moroccan's nerves, but the slavers were careful to cause no damage lest that effect her price on the auction block.
Illya remained silent, trying not to snicker as he took some satisfaction in her more docile behavior; he did not want to let on that he spoke the language, as that could be an advantage, allowing him to listen in on their captor's conversations and possibly get an idea where they were being taken.
The only thing he could glean from them so far were discussions on the estimated prices they would get for their prisoners. It seemed Narcissus by virtue of her beauty would garner a high price, he on the other hand was thought to be too little and scrawny and it was supposed that he would bring the least amount among the four captives, though one of the men argued that his yellow hair would attract interest.
It was suggested though he bore no master's mark; that he still must have been a slave and a troublesome one at that, given the amount of scars they saw on his torso.
Illya hoped they did not suddenly decide that he might be more trouble than he appeared worth, and sighed, wondering if Napoleon was close enough to home in on the signal from the tracker that he salvaged from his shirt after it had been torn from him.
His fair skin was beginning to turn a nasty shade of pink as the sun and lack of water were getting to him. He stumbled several times until his legs finally gave out, but his motivation to move was the sharp sting of a whip against his back which did not cease until he struggled up to his feet. There was no hesitation on his part as he flashed an angry glare at the man with the whip.
"Yalla kalb_go dog, or you will feel the kiss of my leather mistress on your back again!" were the words shouted at him. At another point Narcissus too faltered as she fell to her knees; her black stiletto boots not conducive to walking the dunes. The Moroccan driving them forgot himself, bringing his whip down upon her, but Kuryakin stepped in it's path taking the sharp sting of it's leather in her stead.
"Why did you to that? she asked him in disbelief, with a vicious tone to her voice as she pulled herself up to her feet.
"Because my father taught me to be a gentleman...you stupid cow!" He became annoyed at her unappreciative attitude and his own impulsiveness, as his act gave him no sense of satisfaction; only more searing pain on his back was his reward for his chivalry as Narcissus offered no word of thanks, nothing.
They were driven on for hours by their captors to the near the point of exhaustion until they reached a small oasis; Illya initially thinking it was a mirage when he first lay eyes on it as the power of the sun had blurred his vision.
But it was real; Narcissus was brought water, while he and the two Thrush men were made to wait as the Moroccans and their horses drank their fill from the small watering hole. Then the prisoners were finally permitted to go to the water's edge, leaning forward on their bellies as they gulped down what they could before they were abruptly pulled away.
They were at least permitted to sit under the shade of some palm trees while the men ate a stew they had prepared, scooped up with khobz bread and munched on dates. The horses were allowed to graze on the small patch of green and given several juicy apples. But with the exception of Narcissus, the rest of them were given nothing.
Illya's head was pounding, not only from the heat and overexertion but from the fact that it had been quite some time since he'd eaten. And with his high metabolism and the protestations of his growling stomach; he was becoming concerned that he would have trouble maintaining the pace that had been set on their desert march.
He knew he was the low man of value on their list and if he lagged too much, it was quite possible that he would be abandoned to the embrace of the Sahara.
.
Napoleon continued to navigate his jeep onward until he came upon an abandoned truck on the meager road that he'd been following. The axle was broken and it looked as though the occupants had gone off by foot, but then there were hoof prints as well. He found a strange electronic device in the sand nearby, then searching inside the truck, he spotted a burnoose that surely had to be Illya's.
That satisfied him that he was at least on the right track; but it wasn't until he found the body of the Thrush guard that he was filled with a greater sense of urgency, unsure if this was his partner's handiwork of not.
He checked a compass, keeping in mind his friends not so facetious jab about getting lost. From the direction of the trail in the sand, it seemed that they were heading back in the direction of Marrakesh. Until he hopefully picked up Illya's homing signal it now seemed his only option to but double back to the city.
Napoleon put the mysterious electronic device beneath his seat then grabbed his canteen, taking a refreshing gulp of water, and that was when he saw it, a shredded khaki shirt lying nearly invisible in the sand. He hopped out of the jeep, picking the cloth up, giving it a sniff...it smelled like Illya with just a hint of that odd aftershave he would sometimes use when dealing with hot weather. He searched the collar, not finding the homing disc, which meant either good or bad news, but he hoped it was the former; that his partner still had the disc in his possession.
He wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve as he started up the jeep with a roar, trusting his instincts as he shifted into gear, heading back in the direction of the city.
.
The sun had finally set and it looked as though they would be making their encampment there at the oasis for the night, as the Moroccans had set up a small tent for themselves, lighting a fire in front of it as they settled in for the night.
A sole guard sat dozing beside the prisoners whose lead chain had been staked to the ground.
"Kuryakin," Narcissus whispered," if you could get one of the pins out my hair, you could use it to unlock our collars couldn't you?"
"Narcissus, thank you for such boundless confidence in my abilities, but I am afraid like you my hands are bound behind my back, so it is physically impossible for me to reach up to your hair."
"Your mouth, you moron. You can use your mouth to pull one of them out then drop it into my hand. But try not to muss my hair anymore than it is please?"
He gave her an incredulous look for a moment, then realized that was a rather clever idea on her part. He leaned into her immediately, nuzzling his face into her hair searching for a bob-pins. He latched onto one with his teeth, pulling it out then letting it drop to her waiting hands while spitting out a stray strand of hair from his lips.
She passed the pin into his hands then lowered herself down beside him, allowing the Russian to manipulate the pin behind his back, unlocking the iron collar.
He half smiled when he felt the lock finally click, then helped remove the encumbrance carefully from around her throat. He then felt her take the pin from his hands; expecting her to do the same for him as he started to lower himself down, enabling her to reach his collar easily. But then there was nothing. Illya turned his head to see Narcissus disappearing into the darkness.
"Chyort," he cursed to himself in frustration; remaining down on the sand, Illya closed his eyes, resigning himself to the sleep of exhaustion as there was nothing he could do.
The next morning there was a great commotion when the slavers realized Narcissus and one of their horses were missing. The man who had been charged with guarding the prisoners suddenly found himself chained among them, apparently taking the place of their lost prize. They argued among themselves as to whether to give chase after the woman, but their lack of supplies forced them to proceed back to Marrakesh, giving the woman up as a loss. Besides, it was reasoned; they had the three gems that would surely bring them a great price.
"Move you infidel dogs" one ordered as he kicked the Thrush men to attention. One by one they struggled to their feet, being lead over to the water for one last draught before the return to their desert journey.
The captives walked as quickly as their weakening condition permitted. The slavers not driving them as hard today, stopping several times to give the horses and the prisoners some water but still no food.
The next day they finally reached the outskirts of the city of Marrakesh, though this part was a seedier area that Illya was not familiar with at all. They were brought to a holding pen where others like themselves were chained to the walls, some men, but mostly women and children both young and old.
They were ordered to remove their clothes and handed crude homespun robes to cover their nakedness. The Russian refused to cooperate and was held down as his clothing was cut from him, and in the struggle the homing disc went flying out of his hand, landing somewhere in the sandy yard.
"Polchit' svoi ruki ot menya_get your hands off me!" He spat out at them angrily in Russian, for all the good it was worth.
He did not want to be sold into slavery but accepted that it was inevitable, knowing that, he needed to appear strong and healthy. At the moment, offering a little resistance was the best way to do that. If he did not appear to be an able bodied man, then no one would buy him and he would more than likely be bartered off to work in a chain gang at hard labor, or simply disposed of as worthless goods.
His best chance at escaping would be if he were bought as a household slave, but he tried not to dwell on that at the moment as he was extremely hot, tired and hungry.
He looked out into the sand, trying to spot the homing disc, but had no luck. Even if he did locate it, his chains held him close to the wall and he'd be unable to reach it anyway. Illya closed his eyes, trying to squeeze his body into the shade along the wall as he awaited his turn to stand on the auction block.
