CHAPTER SEVEN
It was late when they entered the hotel lobby after their day of walking London and Gaby's feet were killing her. Heels, even short ones, we're not a shoe her feet were used to. Flat mechanic boots were still her footwear of choice, but they certainly weren't refined and would have been out of character. They had walked much of the city including the Parliament and the old part of the city where many of the embassies were located. She was tired and she knew Illya was too.
The effects of the sodium pentothal which had been pumped into body still lingered although he made no mention of it. His reactions seemed a little slower to her sometimes. He fell asleep immediately once he got into bed, something that was a little disappointing. But she knew he was still recovering and he didn't want to admit he wasn't up to par.
The hotel lobby was quiet as they entered. But something didn't feel right. He felt it too and she could feel him tense as she held his arm. He slowed just as two men suddenly sprang from the sofas, and in a flash, gun fire erupted as they began to spray the room with rapid shots.
He was already diving behind a thickly padded couch on the opposite side of the room as the shots began. She bumped heavily on the carpeted floor as he landed on top of her. The feather stuffing from the couch was drifting through the air like snowfall from the initial explosion of gunfire. The guns had stopped just as quickly as they had started. She swore the entire room must be able to hear her heart pounding.
"Quiet," he whispered and pushed her down as he pulled his gun from his jacket. The room was silent with just the muffled sound of moving feet on carpet as the two gunmen maneuvered. They weren't taking any chances that they'd hit their target and they moved cautiously. Gaby imagined them closing in their location, one coming in from each side. Her heart was pounding and her eyes were wide open but all she could see were dust clumps stuck to the thick carpet as she lay on her side tucked up hard against the back of the couch.
She couldn't see Illya but could feel him moving beside her, pulling up his knees. He had pushed her tightly to the back of the sofa his body now maneuvered lying face up firmly packed against her.
Then like an arrow out of a bow, he sprung to a seated position just as the man at his feet came into view. He fired and then swung the gun over his head and begun firing behind him blindly. The smell of gunpowder sunk on her as she wondered if he was alive.
The room was alive again with shouts and more pings as bullets seem to rage around them. He was on his feet crouching and abruptly dragged her up. His grasp on her arm was so firm it hurt, she would remember at a later time. The scene in the room was chaos with another shooter firing an automatic gun from behind the hotel desk, and the two thugs that had attacked them now firing back.
"Must be MI6," he yelled over the din. "I must thank Waverly for that," he yelled. "He keeps them busy and we escape," as he pulled her out a side door.
A short distance down the street at a quaint little tavern, Napoleon Solo sought his relaxation for the night. After days of pouring over covertly obtained telegrams, receipts, and money transfers he needed a diversion and in front of him sat a dewy green eyed, well endowed, perfectly shaped diversion with full red lips. She was infatuated with his American accent and his tales of heroism in the war. He kissed the back of her hand calling her "his princess" and she was purring like a kitten.
He knew this was the time for the final play, and as he turned on his most irresistible charm, he heard the all too familiar sound of distant gunfire. Illya and Gaby. You guys pick the worst times to get into trouble, the thought flashed in his mind. Quickly excusing himself, he gave the woman a peck on the cheek, saying, "later," and ran for the door, leaving behind an extremely confused and extremely frustrated woman.
Outside in the alley beside the hotel, Gaby heaved out between rushing breathes, "What happened?"
"Ambush," he replied, breathing heavily. "I hate ambush." Which made her wonder for one foolish second if anyone liked them. Normally she would have teased him for an answer, but this was not that time. He searched the street for his next move. She noticed a stain of deep red on his left arm. "Scratch," he said simply, "too slow". Two cars came screeching into the alley, their headlights threatening to reveal them. He grabbed her arm again and ran for the cover of a laundry truck parked next to the building.
"Get in and see if you can find keys," he whispered as he pushed her up into the cab. She didn't even bother looking for keys. He wasn't the only one who knew how to hot wire.
Solo cautiously approached the hotel lobby. The gun fire had ceased and he heard cars moving close by. Feathers still floated through the air like an off season celebration of Christmas thanks to the breeze blowing through the space. He stepped over one body as he looked for signs of his companions.
He heard a groan from behind the desk and both fear and dread mixed in his soul as he walked carefully towards it, gun drawn. Behind the desk was the night clerk. Beside him was a Browning Light automatic rifle. The middle aged, very common looking man with thinning hair croaked, "MI6, Sir. I got one, wounded the other, I think, before they got me. Kuryakin and the woman ran out the side door to the alley. I'm ok." He motioned to the door with a thrust of his head, "GO!"
Solo ran out the side door just in time to see a truck rumbling by in the death throes of stalling. No one appeared to be in the driver's seat and the passenger door was open, swinging wildly as the truck bucked back and forth as the engine strained against the clutch.
The glaring light of the parked cars shone over the scene like a Hollywood movie set. He could see the truck's target was a group of shooters who were now firing at it madly as it headed for their position like a crazed out of control tank. Bullets were hitting the truck like a hard rain until a shot hit a tire and the demented vehicle stopped but not before bursting in flames. His heart skipped as he thought what if Illya and Gaby were in it, but in the now brightly illuminated alley, he saw two figures running towards the back of the hotel. With the fire ball blocking their view, he doubted the gunmen could see them.
His first guess was it was the Nazi Bauknecht, with either a change of heart or a grudge match against Illya. His second guess?
His mind shot back to the revelation of Illya's kidnapping. Could it be British Military Intelligence just wanted the Russian out of the way? Not likely. The hotel clerk could have completed that order with no problem, and snipers could have easily picked him off anytime over the last two days. It really didn't matter right now because it was clear whoever it might be they were looking to make some dead bodies.
He quickly checked the roof tops for snipers. Knowing that the kindly, slightly befuddled desk clerk was secretly an MI6 agent, he hoped there might be more. They were outgunned and out manned. Illya would have already used all his ammo, and Solo only had his revolver. Not much of a fair match.
Illya was struggling for air and stumbled as he pulled Gaby along the alley. It was the effects of the sodium pentothal overdose he'd gotten earlier in the week she could see. He had walked the hotel area earlier in the week, as he did to every hotel they stayed in. He explained that every spy needs a pre-planned escape route, preferably three, and he always looked for five. For Illya, the last two often involved roof tops, canals or sewer drains. She was hoping the last option is not where they were headed.
She heard someone approaching fast from behind. "Illya!" She tugged hard on his arm almost causing him to stumble again. He pushed her into a small corner behind a trash bin, as he waited for the intruder.
The man came hurdling by them and the Russian caught him by the throat in his good arm. "Peril, it's me. One of the good guys!" Solo gasped as he wrestled with the iron gripe around his neck. "Oh, sorry," came the reply as Illya let him go. Solo took a good look at his friends through the dancing light of the burning truck. Gaby looked shaken but good, Peril was breathing like he'd run a marathon and had a bloody left arm.
"So what's up for tonight? A little spy vs. spy?" he said breezily. He was rewarded with a glare and grimace from the Russian. "I think it's Bauknecht and a bunch of his heavies.
"Why Bauknecht? Solo asked.
"I don't think he likes me," came the answer with a smirk.
"No," I bet he doesn't. You know Peril, you really need to learn how to make friends. You don't have to shoot everyone who makes you mad."
"Why?"
Solo rolled his eyes in response.
They could hear the roar of a helicopter in the distance. "Choppers. Maybe we'll be saved by the cavalry." At his companion's quizzical looks, he clarified, "Waverly and some of his friends with big guns."
"That would be good right about now," Gaby said. But before they could celebrate, they saw the headlights of a rapidly approaching car. "Get down!" Solo commanded. He waited for the split second the car came around the trash bin before he stepped out and took deadly aim at the driver. The car careened into the side of the building just missing a crushing end to the trash bin and anyone near it.
Three men jumped out with pistols intent on shooting anything that moved. Illya sprang to his feet and dispatched the first one who stepped unknowingly within his reach. There was the sickening sound of bone snapping, and the man slipped to the ground. The second and third man were not so slow though. As the first victim fell to the ground the second man aimed his gun directly at the Russian's chest, while the third man picked up the dead man's gun and trained it on Solo. Bauknecht slowly exited the back seat of the car.
"Gentlemen, we meet again. And how fortunate am I to have two face to face meetings with the famous assassin Illya Kuryakin." He sneered the name.
"Bauknecht", Solo said, "You hear that chopper? It will be here any minute now." The far off wail of klaxon horns was sounding in the background. More cavalry he concluded. Just get here real soon he prayed.
"Excellent timing to pick up your dead bodies," the German sneered again. "But I just seem to missing your very attractive lady friend. Find her!" He took the gun from the man who was guarding Solo and motioned with a shake of his head to begin searching. Both agents stood now with a gun trained on them.
From the corner of his eye, Solo could see Illya tense. At any other time he had no doubt the Russian could jump the man and kill him in one smooth step, but seeing as he was not the machine he was usually, he had grave doubts he could pull it off without taking a bullet point blank to the chest. He hoped sincerely Peril wasn't going to try it.
He knew he didn't have the speed or training to pull the move off and decided he'd just have to hope for his own sake that Peril didn't think he actually was Superman, and try it.
The right moment would come, he knew. That's what his specialty was all about: timing.
So he did what he did second best to stealing: talking. "So have you had a change of heart but were afraid a telegram might arrive too late to stop some murders?" His voiced was laced with confidence and sarcasm.
"You Americans, always thinking you're so funny, so clever, smarter than everyone else." Bauknecht spit the words out. "And you dirty Russians…" he faced Illya with contempt chiseled on his face. "How dare you think you're better than anyone! Your race would be lucky to be enslaved by the Third Reich!" He spit on the ground by Illya's boot.
"And you should be the lord commander of all?" Solo replied immediately taunting him. He needed to get the German's attention back on him before Peril became unglued and got himself shot.
Bauknecht glared at Solo and it looked like he was going to pull the trigger, but he took a few breathes and laughed. His face was screwed up in a deadly leer. "Perhaps we could all be friends and I'll just call you both my UNCLE." He was obviously enjoying the surprise that showed on the men's faces. "Yes, I have my own intelligence, and I'd say it's quite a bit better than yours." He was so excited to confront the two men with their blown cover, Solo thought the German might wet himself.
To Peril's credit, he stood absolutely still, probably the hardest thing in the world for that man to do, Solo thought briefly. He was letting Solo handle it. Partners. Each has their role, their job, their specialty. And talking was Solo's.
"UNCLE you say. Then you must recognize we see who you are, who you're working for, your connections. The CIA, and the KGB all know this." The words came with conviction and power. "Sure kill us and UNCLE will still have you. There's a lot more of us than you." He knew of course that wasn't true, but it sounded good, he thought.
Solo's continued effort to buy time was broken by a grunted shout. Out of the shadows came a seriously doubled over man dragging a fighting woman behind him. That momentary lapse of attention was just what both men were waiting for. Illya leapt at the Bauknecht's henchman in front of him, disarming him in one fluid motion with a gut strike using his good arm, while Solo smashed Bauknecht with a cannon like blow to the face. He grabbed the gun as the man fell.
The brute dragging Gaby fired a wild shot hitting the brick wall and sending shards of flying masonry over the two agents. She took her opportunity and attempted to knee him again in the groan, missing her mark but hitting him squarely in the knee, causing him to stumble to the ground. She followed it up with a vicious kick to the back of the other knee and he let her go. He caught himself though, and managed to keep his gun trained on the men as he limped towards the car. The German and his one remaining thug leaned heavily on each other as they made their way, with guns still aimed at the agents.
They could see the lights of the approaching chopper. Illya had the gun that a few moments ago threatened to leave him dead in the alley. Now the question was did it have any ammo left. Did any of the guns have any bullets left?
Solo would later explain the definition of Mexican stand-off as the men held weapons on each other as the car turned and started down the alley. Illya started after it, but Solo held his arm out to stop him. "Peril, I know from personal experience you can just rip that car to pieces, but my friend, you don't sound so good. Let it go."
He could see the bold determination in the Russian's eyes and wondered if he might actually have to try to stop him. Fortunately a voice from behind him brought him back to reality.
"Illya?" It was Gaby. She shuffled over to Napoleon, holding the man's arm as she watched the Russian. He stopped, his attention completely diverted from the escaping car to her voice. Solo spoke. "It's ok Peril. They won't get far. UNCLE knows who they are, and who they were working for. I think our job might be done."
Illya took a deep breath and began coughing hard as his lungs protested the sudden large volume of air he had just drawn in. He bent over bracing his hands on his knees as the coughing subsided. Gaby walked to him and wordlessly hugged him around the waist burying her head in his chest. He slowly straightened and wrapped his good arm around her shoulders, turning his head slightly and resting his cheek on her hair. The moment didn't last long as the blades of the chopper overhead whipped the dirt and grime up off the street losing them in a cloud of dust, and roaring wind.
The chopper wouldn't be able to land in the tight space, but its lights blew through the space, illuminating it like it was noon on a rare London bright sunny day. Amid the blowing grim came the angry clamor of the klaxon horns as multiple military vehicles jammed in the alley with the now smoldering laundry truck stuck in the middle like some kind of strange ugly garden sculpture.
Men in assault gear jumped from the cars, guns drawn and trained on the three agents as they raised their arms in surrender. Solo always made a point of looking bored for these encounters thinking it made him much less like a bad guy. For one brief second, he wondered if the bad guys did that in the same situation.
Gaby stood in front of Illya, brave woman, and yelled to the approaching team that the man couldn't raise his left arm because he'd been shot. It was Waverly's appearance that finally called off the dogs, as Solo saw it. He appeared from the side door of the hotel, and although they couldn't hear what was said, guns were lowered, and the helicopter left in the direction of the escaping car.
The wail of an ambulance siren was rapidly approaching. Waverly ran, looking relieved. "I've got medical on the way. I say, looks like we need it," as he stared at Illya's bloody arm. "I want you all to go with them. You can give a brief statement to the lieutenant here on the way and I'll see you all later." He patted Solo on the shoulder saying, "Good work all of you," and ran back to the man in charge while the noise of the chopper faded in the distance.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter posted. Last week was busy. But, not done yet! More to come. Thanks for your patience.
