The ride back to headquarters found both men unusually quiet. They were used to spending time together and not feeling pressured to converse, but right now there was an intense amount of concentration regarding the next few hours.
Napoleon was strategizing, his mind occupied with the possibilities, the things that might go wrong. He always had to consider the innocent in this, whom he presumed to be Agnès Ormond. Even if Illya didn't agree…yet…there was something about her story that rang true to the agent's sensibilities. Von Etske had been in prison since the end of the war, and she was…
He started to mentally calculate the years between Von Etske's imprisonment and now, and the fact that he had been married to Agnès' mother before the war. Agnès looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, and that seemed right.
"Illya, how old do you think Agnès is? According to her story, she would have been born sometime before '39, so…"
Illya was maneuvering the Renault into a parking space near a little café he intended to patronize. The coffee and croissant from early that morning had evaporated along with the rain. He needed to eat something, and felt a little lightheaded for having missed a mid-morning snack. There were a few problems with high metabolisms that people failed to understand. He ate because he needed to eat, in spite of Napoleon's teasing about the voracious appetite.
He quickly did the math concerning his partner's questions, and reckoned that the woman in question was around thirty, younger than he and Napoleon were by a few years.
"I know you believe her, or want to believe her. I am holding my opinion of the story until more is revealed. With luck, I will be able to ascertain that very shortly."
Napoleon felt a sudden dread wash over him as the reference was made to their still fledgling plan. Illya would be an easy target, especially since they'd already taken a shot at him. What if they didn't want to use the gas on him; what if Von Etske merely wanted him dead?
"Illya, perhaps we should…"
He didn't finish the sentence, looking instead into his friend's eyes and trying to gauge how the Russian really viewed all of this. He didn't want to risk his life, not if there was another way.
"Thank you, Napoleon. I appreciate your caution in this. However, it seems that we have little choice in the matter. Even Mr. Waverly agreed, did he not?"
Their superior had heartily agreed that a ruse involving Illya would be most useful in gaining entrance to the center of this mystery. If Von Etske still thought of Illya as Nexor, whether in disguise or as a traitor, he would pose the most probable choice for luring the scientist out of his hiding place. They now had a location from the homing device in the girl's dress. It appeared to be a storefront of some sort, and was being watched by two of the agents from the Paris office. They didn't think she lived there, but rather had fled to it as a temporary hiding place.
"She must be following orders of some sort. I know that neighborhood, and it isn't the type of place where she seems to belong, considering the house we just left."
Illya and Napoleon had sat down at an outdoor table, all the while watching the street and aware of the various passersby. They each ordered a roast beef and Roquefort sandwich, to which no additional condiments were allowed, and a glass of burgundy.
"Do you think they're lurking about, watching us eat our lunch?"
Illya's eyes were hidden behind dark glasses now, but his hair, as usual, was like a beacon even at mid-day. What was it about his blond hair that outshone everything else? Napoleon wondered about it, remembering the times he had been relieved at the sight of it, never mistaking anyone else for his partner.
"I think it's possible. Even though we have people keeping an eye on Agnès, we must assume there are others. Certainly it wasn't Von Etske himself who took that shot at you this morning."
Illya shook his head, that small little motion that was uniquely his way of saying 'no'.
"I couldn't see into the car very well, it all happened very fast. I believe there were two people, however. It seems unlikely to have been him and his daughter, which means two other people. Perhaps one or more of them will emerge from the building being watched."
He paused in his chewing, set the sandwich back down on the plate, and sipped his wine. The headache was back, a result of not eating soon enough, he thought. Napoleon caught the slight furrowing in the blond brow, not sure if he should ask…
"Illya, you've been plagued by a headache ever since we arrived. What's going on?"
From behind the dark glasses it was impossible to see what was expressed in the blue eyes. Illya put down the wineglass and stared out across the street at something beyond.
"I am fine, Napoleon. A headache, it is a small thing. Perhaps due to the change in climate, or the rain… or merely…"
Napoleon waited but the sentence was never finished. At that moment a black sedan pulled up in front of them and within a few seconds, it seemed, they were overrun by three or four men (neither would recall later on), and hustled into the car as their food crashed to the ground amidst breaking glass and startled screams from the people sitting nearby.
Almost instantly the two agents were injected with sedatives, causing them to be almost instantaneously unconscious. They were completely unaware of their surroundings as the car traveled out of the city and into a rain drenched countryside that bade farewell to Paris and the UNCLE headquarters to which they would not report.
As agents had continued to watch the building where Agnès had entered, she slipped out of a shop several doors down the row. An inside corridor connected them and allowed her to emerge in disguise, so that the only person observed on the sidewalk was an old woman with faded red hair, and a basket over her arm filled with bread.
She hobbled down the little street, passing along in front of a few storefronts, a little boulangerie, and finally, fatefully, into a waiting sedan.
