Chapter 14. Only one tiny tiny chapter left before the story is complete :)

Solo's p.o.v.

"Ow!.."

Dammit...

"Could you try to be a little quieter?"

"My apologies, I'll try to suffer in silence."

"Do you really have to do this now?"

Napoleon looked up at Gaby who was standing in front of the door and was staring at it nervously. She was holding the gun awkwardly with her cuffed hands, keeping it pointed at the door.

"As a matter of fact... I do. I don't want to give Sanders the satisfaction of pointing out how useless I was during this mission."

She shot him an incredulous glance.

"Considering what you've been through, I think he'll understand."

"Gaby, it's Sanders we're talking about."

Gaby shrugged and turned her attention back to the door while he turned his attention back to the desk drawer he had been searching. They were in what he believed was Shelley's study. After Illya had left to find Asher, they had waited in the basement for a while, unsure what to do. "Find a safe place to hide", yeah right. Easier said than done, Peril. Napoleon still hadn't completely recovered from the effects of the poison and not only did he not have a gun, he was almost naked and the thought of roaming the mansion in his underwear was not particularly appealing. After some contortion, Gaby had managed to slide her cuffed hands down her butt and bring them to the front and she had decided to go looking for a gun. Napoleon had tried to dissuade her but he had quickly realized that he didn't really have a say in the matter. After a while, and to his relief, Gaby had come back with a gun which she has found on a dead guard. At that point, he had recovered enough to be able to stand up and walk, and they had left the basement. They had cautiously made their way to the first floor and had managed to find a telephone in one of the rooms. Unfortunately the line had been dead. It was when they had reached the second floor that Napoleon had suddenly recognized his surroundings. He had walked through those corridors earlier, when Shelley had taken him to the bathroom. Just as he had been about to jokingly suggest a bathroom break, they had heard footsteps coming in their direction and had quickly pushed open the first door they had found. They had waited in tense silence for the footstep sounds to recede, then Napoleon had decided to start exploring the room. They had found another door which had led them to the small study they were now hiding in.

"Bingo..."

Just as Napoleon suspected, the drawer had a secret compartment. He glanced up at Gaby and gave her his most charming smile. Her gun was still trained on the door but her eyes were now fixed on the drawer. He reached inside the hidden niche with his "good" hand, grimacing as his painfully sensitive skin rubbed against the wood, and pulled out a book and a small notepad. Curiosity got the best of Gaby and she finally lowered the gun and stepped closer. The book was an anthology of English poetry. Napoleon carefully used his right hand to flip through it but did not find anything unusual. He turned his attention to the notepad and looked at the first few pages. To his disappointment, he only found what appeared to be drafts of poems.

"Apparently, Shelley was quite the poet... Some of these aren't bad at all..."

But Shelley's talents as a poet probably wouldn't impress Sanders. Napoleon flicked through a few more pages and was about to discard the notepad when something caught his attention. One of the pages was not like the others. No carefully crafted sentences, or vivid metaphors. Only numbers. He thoroughly examined the rest of the notepad and realized that there were other, similar pages hidden among the poems. No words, just series of numbers. His gaze shifted back to the anthology of English poetry.

Book cipher...

"Agents Solo and Teller?"

Napoleon's heart skipped a few beats as his head snapped up. Focused on his discovery, they had not noticed that the door to their hiding place was being pushed open, slowly and silently. In his peripheral vision, he saw Gaby spin around and bring the gun up. The man at the door immediately raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"Don't shoot! We're DST agents. We're here to rescue you."

Napoleon exchanged a glance with Gaby who hesitated a few more seconds, then probably decided that the man's unthreatening attitude and heavy French accent were convincing enough and lowered the gun. The French agent nodded at her and stepped into the room, followed by three other men. He looked only slightly older than Napoleon and had unusual, piercing, light green eyes. He introduced himself as Théophile Devanne and was apparently one of Maxime Drancy's superiors.

"Well, agent Devanne, you almost got yourself shot.", Napoleon remarked, with a slight smile.

The man did not return his smile.

"Sorry, we didn't mean to startle you. It's a good thing we found you before the enemies did. A few of them were still alive and hiding on this floor." Devanne paused and his gaze briefly traveled up and down Napoleon's body. For a few awkward seconds, Napoleon thought that the man was going to mention his lack of clothing. Then the French agent's eyes shifted to the open drawer, and finally settled on the book in front of Napoleon. "Did you find anything interesting?"

"Oh, no. Just an old poetry book and a few manuscript drafts...", Napoleon answered dismissively.

He wasn't sure exactly why, but he was reluctant to share what he had discovered with the French agent.

"Hmm. There might be more to it than meets the eye, who knows.", Devanne said, his peculiar eyes still fixed on the book.

He nodded at one of his men who walked up to the desk and grabbed the book and the notepad. Napoleon struggled to hide his annoyance. He had memorized the title and edition of the book, but this information was useless without the notepad.

"We should go now. Your Russian colleague is waiting for you downstairs. And medical help should be here soon. You look like you need it.", Devanne added, as he pointed at the bandage around Napoleon's hand. "We might be able to get you some clothes, too..."

Napoleon looked at Gaby and saw his own relief reflected in her eyes. Illya was alive. But it wasn't long before a shadow passed over Gaby's face, and relief gave way to concern.

"What about Asher Marshall?", she asked. "Did you find him, too?"

Devanne turned to look at her but did not answer.

"Good looking guy, light brown hair...", Napoleon added, interpreting the man's silence as confusion.

"I'm afraid he didn't make it.", Devanne finally answered.

Napoleon felt his heart sink.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, very sure. Your colleague performed CPR for quite some time."

Dammit...Illya...

Illya's p.o.v.

Illya kept his eyes fixed on Asher's lifeless features as Cordier explained how they had received a distress signal from Drancy and had found the French agent seriously injured but still conscious. The medics had done what they could to stabilize him and he had managed to give them Waverly's name and the coordinates to Shelley's mansion. Cordier had immediately contacted Waverly and had decided to go investigate Shelley's place with a few of his men. They had found a lot of dead guards and had walked in on one very alive Blake as he was suffocating Asher. They had tried to take the assassin alive but he had apparently managed to kill one of Cordier's men before he had been shot dead by one of the other agents. As Cordier paused and let out a weary sigh, Illya finally tore his gaze away from Asher's face and looked up at the Frenchman. They were alone in the room. Cordier's colleague had left, taking a few men with him to find Cowboy and Gaby.

"I want to see the body.", he suddenly said, looking the Frenchman dead in the eye.

"Kuryakin..."

"Now."

"My men already took him away. And I'm not sure you should be walking around too much with your wounded leg..."

"Now."

"Fine."

Illya laboriously got to his feet, refusing Cordier's help, and followed him outside. Blake's body was lying in the back of a truck. The assassin had a bloody hole in his chest, right at heart level. Illya felt his fists clench. The bastard probably hadn't suffered long. Unlike Asher. Illya still remembered vividly the one time he had fought Blake. He knew how vicious the man was. How much he enjoyed playing with his victims before incapacitating and killing them. He could easily imagine the torture Asher had suffered at the hands of the assassin. He took a deep breath, as he tried hard to control the anger that threatened to engulf him, then he pressed two fingers against the assassin's carotid artery and waited. Nothing. Blake was gone. He let his hand drop back down to his side and for a moment, he just stood there, staring at the small hole in the assassin's chest.

"Let's get back inside, hopefully the medical team will be here soon.", Cordier finally said, gesturing toward the mansion.

As Illya stepped away from the truck, his wounded leg suddenly buckled and the Frenchman caught him by the arm, just before he went down. He took a few seconds to steady himself then he angrily snatched his arm back and limped away, hoping that his leg would support him until he reached the door. He knew that Cordier and his team had probably saved his life. And he knew that Cordier had tried to save Asher. Still he couldn't help but resent the man for granting Blake a quick death and for arriving just a few minutes too late. Of course, it was nothing compared to the anger he directed at himself. He had failed to kill Blake. He had been weak. And his weakness had cost Asher his life... As these torturous thoughts kept turning over and over again in his mind, Illya finally reached the front door... and almost bumped into one of Cordier's men, who was apparently looking for his superior.

"On a trouvé Solo et Teller. / We've found Solo and Teller."

"Bien. At least, you still have two partners alive out of three, Kuryakin."

What?...

Illya frowned and turned to look at the Frenchman. He studied Cordier's face for a second, trying to decide whether or not he should punch his head off. But the man looked genuinely sorry for him, so Illya simply turned around and stepped through the door. It was time to face his partners. And his guilt.

MI6 building, Waverly's p.o.v.

"And Drancy? Did you find out what happened to him?"

Waverly stared at his American colleague for a few seconds. He knew exactly why Adrian was asking that question, and why he was doing it in front of his agents. He took a deep breath and gave the man a polite smile before he answered.

"Maxime died en route to the hospital. His heart gave out."

"Not so surprising when you decide to send an agent with a heart condition on an extremely dangerous mission... You have a strange way of treating your friends."

Waverly noticed the uneasy look on his agents' faces but pretended to ignore it. He could understand Sanders's reaction. To say that the American was pissed off about losing Marshall was an understatement. And since Marshall had been under his supervision, Sanders was blaming him for everything. Insisting on the fact that he was responsible for his friend's death was the American's way of getting even. The meeting went on for a while, in the same tense atmosphere. Then, at some point, Sanders checked his watch, abruptly stated that he had to leave and stood up. Waverly watched the American make his way to the door of the meeting room. Just as he was reaching it, Sanders stopped and turned to face him.

"I would appreciate it, and I'm sure that Cordier will agree with me, if next time you could try to get some of your own agents killed, for a change..."

A few seconds passed in uncomfortable silence after Sanders had left the room. Waverly slowly turned back around to face his two agents. Only Solo and Miss Teller had been able to attend the meeting. Kuryakin was in Russia. Apparently the KGB needed him for some unspecified assignment. Nothing too physically demanding, he supposed, since Kuryakin was still recovering from his leg wound. It was probably a good thing that the Russian had not been able to attend. The last thing Kuryakin needed was to hear Sanders complain about Marshall's death. He knew that the Russian was blaming himself. He also knew that Kuryakin had done everything in his power to save the young agent. With his wounded leg, it was already impressive that he had been able to get to Marshall at all. And the odds of restarting someone's heart with CPR alone were close to zero... The Russian had done what he could but poor Marshall had simply run out of luck. That probably wouldn't stop Kuryakin from torturing himself with unjustified guilt. Hopefully, his KGB "assignment" would keep him from brooding over it too much.

"That wasn't fair, Sir.", Solo said after a while, breaking the silence and interrupting his train of thought.

Waverly felt himself smile sadly.

"Oh, Adrian is right about a few things, unfortunately. And he's not the only one blaming me. Cordier was slightly more subtle about it but I can tell he isn't too happy about Maxime's death, either. Especially since Maxime is the second agent he's lost in the span of a few months. And that's without counting the man Blake killed before they shot him dead..."

"You couldn't have predicted how things were going to turn out. The organization was one step ahead the whole time."

"I knew about Maxime's health issues."

And I'm also responsible for the information leaks...

That part he had not mentioned to his agents yet. Cordier and his men had found several bugs inside Maxime's house and car, and a tracker had also been found on his body, which meant that getting Maxime involved had not only led to his death, but had also provided the organization with crucial information about the mission. The news had surprised him. It wasn't like Maxime to be so careless. But his friend had probably been preoccupied with his health and had let his guard down...

Solo's p.o.v.

Waverly remained silent for a minute, apparently lost in his thoughts. Then he placed the object he had been fiddling with since the beginning of the meeting on the table in front of him. It looked like a small gold medallion on a broken chain.

"Anyway", he finally said. "We have some work to do. And this time we'll be joining forces with the French. Officially."

Napoleon exchanged a perplexed glance with Gaby.

"I beg your pardon, Sir?"

"What? You didn't think that Cordier had come to rescue you out of the kindness of his heart, did you, Solo? That's not the man's style, believe me. He wants in on the investigation. Which isn't such a bad thing since it means more resources and manpower. Of course, it also means sharing all the information we have with our French colleagues – another thing Sanders isn't too happy about."

Napoleon snorted inwardly as he recalled the episode with the notepad and the poetry book at Shelley's place.

It pains me to admit it, but I agree with Sanders, for once...

"Who knows", Waverly continued, "with their help and the gruesome little present Blake graciously left us, we might finally reach a breakthrough in this investigation..."

Their handler was referring to the "parting gift" Blake had left in Gaby's pocket. The envelope had contained a note with coordinates. The team which had been sent to investigate the location had found a large building, hidden in the woods, away from prying eyes. Full of dead people. Apparently, they had all been killed by some type of poisonous gas. Except for two men who, judging by the disturbing condition of their bodies, had died before the gas had been released. Both men had been found shirtless, lying on the floor, with their hands cuffed behind their backs. Their Achilles tendons had been severed. Their tongues had also been chopped off and stuffed back inside their mouths. If they had still been alive after that ordeal, they had certainly died when their throats had been slit from ear to ear. Near the bodies, the agents had found a printed list of names, similar to the one Waverly had given to Drancy. Next to some of the names, the assassin had scribbled an equal sign, followed by a different name. A quick check had led them to the conclusion that the scribbled names were most probably the real identities of some of the aliases on the list. As a macabre bonus, Blake had also given them the identity of the two dead men in the room, whose names had been carved into the skin of their chests. Samuel Landry and Christopher Warren...

Why the assassin had decided to provide them with that information would forever remain a mystery. Maybe he had had a falling-out with his employers and had turned against the organization. Napoleon sighed inwardly. It didn't matter anyway. Blake was dead. All that mattered now was that they had the information and were more determined than ever to take down the organization. And to make sure that Asher and Drancy had not died in vain. As Waverly gave them the details of the upcoming mission, Napoleon's gaze fell on the fresh scar on the back of his left hand. According to the surgeons who had worked on his hand, he had been very lucky, and they were confident that there would be no permanent damage. And, thankfully, he was no longer experiencing the random episodes of intense pain which had plagued him for days after they had been rescued. His doctors had explained that both his body and his mind would need time and rest to fully recover from the effects of the poison. And Gaby was there to make sure that he scrupulously followed doctors' orders. He still had a few weeks left of convalescence and rehabilitation before he could get back to active duty. Hopefully, that would give Illya enough time to complete his assignment with the KGB. And then the team would be complete again. And they would make those bastards pay.

End of chapter 14. Chapter 15 coming soon. Thank you guys for taking the time to read my stuff :)