Cleopatra frowned, her face slightly furrowing as she stared ay Il-ly-a. She came closer, step after step, and sat beside the pillow. He was soundly asleep.. She smiled and her nose traveled up and down the fair hair. Such a beautiful fur... She would have to wait, anyway, because it was too late. She hoped that « Napoleon » would be kind enough to allow her to do what she had to...
Alexander Waverly wasn't one to waste time in vain compliment. However, though he would never admit it, he was impressed. So, he did what he usually did on that occasion: he knitted his eyebrows, creasing his forehead, looking quite doubtful, and even disapproving. He repeated.
-Her paws? Her eyes? Her voice?
That was really encouraging...
Alexander Waverly took a puff at his pipe, stared at it, and took another puff at it.
-And the ... secret would be in a chest ...?
-Or in a jar, sir.
Illya Kuryakin was obviously unaware of Waverly's amazement, Napoleon Solo thought. And he tried to exchange a look with his partner. In the middle of the night, he had been really thrilled by the idea. In the daylight, he realized that their story was a quite ridiculous mix of Aladdin and Alice in Wonderland. The Old Man was doubtful ? So was he, now.
The Russian went on, grabbing Cleopatra's right foreleg. The cat lent herself to the experience, willingly. She spread open her pads, showing her sharp claws. Napoleon Solo sighed, rolling his eyes at the sight. Those two were damned show-off... They wouldn't fool Alexander Waverly.
Waverly leaned forward and studied Cleopatra's pads. The cat stayed obligingly motionless.
-You mean... pad prints, Mr. Kuryakin?
Napoleon Solo gulped. Was he serious?
Alerxander Waverly gently rubbed the pads, causing Cleopatra to purr shamelessly. Illya Kuryakin released his grip, and the cat immediately started to lick it in order to tidy up her fur.
-And what about her eyes?
Oh, yes, her eyes. Alexander Waverly slid his hand under Cleopatra's chin and again the cat obligingly obeyed, craning her neck, her eyes wide open. And she purred again.
-Something similar to our iris identification, I guess, Mr. Kuryakin? Clever. Very clever.
Illya Kuryakin smiled, of course, and Napoleon could have sworn the cat was smiling, too.
Alexander Waverly looked thoughtful. He leaned back in his chair.
-Pad prints, eyes identification... and... a sort of vocal identification?
Cleopatra still obliging softly mewed at the Old Man. Napoleon Solo's eyes met his superior's and was quite pleased, as he noticed Waverly's amazement.
-As you, see, sir, Miss Cleopatra makes out all we say... Next, she'll tell us where is the chest. Or the jar.
Alexander Waverly raised an eyebrow, but his eyes twinkled. Illya Kuryakin shook his head. Napoleon Solo was displaying his innocent look number one: the angelic Napoleon. Cleopatra, aggravated, wooed and curled in a ball on her Il-ly-a's lap.
Switzerland... Why not? The chest, the jar, the box, the container, whatever it was, was in Switzerland, with its content. They'll have to look for it.
-Mr. Solo? Mr. Kuryakin? Where is that chest? Any suggestion?
Napoleon Solo shrugged his shoulders: it was an evidence.
-In Switzerland, sir. Somewhere in her master's home, on in his lab!
Waverly turned to the Russian.
-Mr. Kuryakin?
Illya Kuryakin gently stroked the cat's back. He hesitated.
-I am sorry... I beg to differ, Napoleon. Strategically, Cleopatra is the code. She lived in Switzerland. I think that the chest is somewhere else. You wouldn't keep the code with the safe...
Napoleon Solo sighed, closing his eyes. His partner was infuriating... but his reasoning was logical, and he was probably right. The older agent could just imagine them investigating for hours ... and hours about all the comings and the goings of the cat's master... Plus... of course, all Cleopatra's appointments.
The two sedan stopped at the same time. Four Uncle agents got out the first one and rushed around the second, looking around. The Thrush henchmen peered at each other. Six men and a cat... But the Uncle agents would be compelled to cross the main court yard. They couldn't park closer. No way. They would be exposed, for at least one minute.
The six men walked in accordance with Waverly's plan.
The Thrush leader pointed at the group. The blond Russian carried the cat basket, carefully. The Uncle CEA, Napoleon Solo himself, walked in the lead. The four others walked surrounding the Russian and the cat.
-I want this cat, alive, as soon as possible.
The orders were clear, the end would justify the means. In other words... He stiffened: it was the moment. He gave the signal and all hell broke loose. A short shooting battle, and a resounding victory. He bent forward to pick up the cat basket. The blond Russian lay on the ground. The man hesitated. The Uncle agent wore a flak jacket, as his fellows. A bullet in the head, however... But he had orders, and he took hold of the mewing basket.
Alexander Waverly frowned as a shy voice reported about the events. He knew... he knew for sure that their enemies would do anything to get the cat. They had made a surprise attack, and contrary to all expectations, they had defeated six Uncle agents. No casualties, however. But they had got the cat.