Chapter 5.

Finally fixed Maxime's hair ^^' , here is the updated design for Maxime Drancy (just remove the ""): "https":"/""/""ibb".co"/"kck6wvL

Unknown location, Illya's p.o.v.

"Why the scowl, Kuryakin? Oh I know. You're still mad about your American friend's death. What was his name again? Arthur, was it?"

Illya's eyes shifted from the chessboard to Cordier's face and his fingers tightened around his bishop as he fought the urge to stab the man in the eye with it. The Frenchman was smiling. Of course the bastard remembered Asher's name, he was just trying to get a reaction out of him. Illya would not give him the satisfaction.

"Poor Arthur... he was in bad shape when I found him. But he was still breathing. He really wanted to live, you know. He even tried to fight back. Brave until the very end. Well, almost. You should have seen the panic in his eyes right before he started losing consciousness… I don't blame him, death by suffocation must be extremely unpleasant."

The man paused and just stared at him. He was still smiling, a small, vicious smile. Illya looked back down at the chessboard. The best thing to do was to concentrate on the game. Cordier would shut up eventually, once he realized that Illya was not taking the bait.

"At least it was relatively quick, if it's any consolation. Actually, his heart had already completely stopped several minutes before you barged in and tried to revive him."

Illya felt his grip around the bishop tighten even more, until his hand started shaking.

"I must say it was very entertaining watching you destroy the poor boy's ribcage, your resuscitation efforts probably caused even more damage… Are you going to move that piece?"

Cordier was pointing at the poor bishop which Illya was still holding between his fingers, tight enough to crush it.

"Pièce touchée, pièce jouée / (Touch-move rule), you have to move your bishop now. Not the smartest move, I'm afraid. I hope I'm not distracting you too much..."

Illya quickly scanned the chessboard, trying to remember what he had been about to do with the bishop. Only to find out that Cordier was right. It was not the smartest move. But he did not have a choice.

Concentrate, Kuryakin, you don't want to lose an ear... or whatever else it is that Cordier is missing...

"But I shouldn't take all the credit. I might have ended your friend's life, but Wilfred is the one who really made him suffer. He's the one you should be mad at, really."

Wilfred?...

This time Illya could not stop himself from looking up at Cordier. Judging by the Frenchman's small smile of satisfaction, he had obviously been expecting his reaction. He just stared at Illya for a few more long seconds before he continued.

"Ah, j'oubliais / (my mistake), you probably know him better as Owen Blake. He goes by the name Wilfred, these days. William Wilfred. Apparently, he shared a love of poetry with our late colleague Ben Shelley..."

He goes by the name Wilfred. These days...

"Your move, Kuryakin."

Illya looked at the chessboard as if he was seeing it for the first time. He hadn't even realized that Cordier had already made his move. He tried to focus on the position of the pieces but the blood pulsing in his temples and the thought which kept echoing in his mind prevented him from doing so. Blake was still alive. Shot-in-the-heart Blake, no-pulse Blake was still alive.

"Take your time, mon garçon / (son). I understand how you must feel. It can't be easy hearing that the man who tortured your friend is still alive. Especially since..."

"You talk too much.", Illya abruptly cut in. He looked up in time to see the look of pure rage in Cordier's eyes, then, in a split second, the smile was back on the Frenchman's face.

"Funny, the last time a Russian was mad at me was because I wasn't talking enough..."

Cordier remained silent for the rest of the game but the smile never left his face, even when he was in a bad position. Even when Illya put his king in check... with no way out.

Checkmate...now what?...

"Oh. It looks like you've won the game, mon garçon. According to my rules, I should lose a body part. But since I make the rules, I think we'll just harvest another body part from your colleague. He has to be good for something, after all..."

Illya swore inwardly. He should have expected it. The win had been too easy. Cordier wanted to teach him a lesson.

"So, tell me, how does it feel to be the winner, Kuryakin? I'm sure you cannot wait to play another game."

Unknown location, Wilfred's p.o.v.

Wilfred quickly checked his own pulse one more time before he got to his feet, went to grab his shirt and put it back on. Once again, things had gone better than expected. The experience had been unpleasant but apart from minor skin burns, there did not seem to be any complications... so far. And there was a good chance that the shock from the defibrillator had solved his little problem. He glanced at the dead guard's body. He could probably find what he needed to test his theory in the man's pockets. Of course he was not going to do it. He was a little curious, but not suicidal. Besides, he was pretty sure that his theory would soon be put to the test anyway. Or would it? He had a choice to make. He was fairly confident that he could get out of the base undetected if he left now. Alone. Or... he could go looking for Asher. He knew that Asher was somewhere in the underground building. Some kind of cell. His "employers" had shown it to him on a surveillance monitor. But the building was huge and looking for the cell would be time consuming, and dangerous. Someone would eventually realize that Monroe was missing and they would be looking for him. Unnecessary risk. Escaping alone was definitely the wise thing to do. He felt a smile tug at his lips. Who was he kidding. Of course he was not leaving without Asher. He just needed to find a clever way to get to him. His thoughts were interrupted by a faint whimper. Ah. Right. He still needed to decide what to do with his "patient". He snatched the stethoscope from Monroe's body, hurried over to where Drancy was still lying on the floor and knelt down beside him. The poor agent's condition had obviously not improved, but he was still alive and conscious. And suffering. Wilfred brushed away the hand with which Drancy was still feebly clutching his chest, and used the stethoscope to listen to his heart.

"That is one nasty episode of tachycardia. It's unpleasant, isn't it? You're probably wishing you would die and the pain would stop." He hesitated for a second then smiled down at the French agent. "But we can't have that, can we, Maxime?"

He quickly got up, grabbed Drancy under the arms and dragged him closer to the wall. He then used the guard's handcuffs to cuff the French agent to a pipe that was running along the bottom of the wall. He checked the defibrillator to make sure it was ready, then checked his "patient"'s heart rate one last time. With no way of synchronizing the shock, he would have to do it the old fashioned way.

Not very professional, Dr. Wilfred...

He let out an amused sigh then grabbed the paddles and pressed them firmly against Drancy's chest.

"You know, I really hope you pull through, Maxime. It would be a shame if all that guilt you feel about Thomas went to waste."

DST building, Gaby's p.o.v.

"... with you and Miss Teh-luhr."

Gaby looked up at the mention of her name. She was doing her best to focus on the mission briefing but her mind kept drifting back to the conversation she had had with Waverly just before the meeting began. She had hoped that her handler would have some good news about Illya but that had not been the case. No good news, no bad news. Nothing. Waverly had simply told her with an apologetic smile that even though Illya's Russian handler was not one of the most transparent people he knew, he still trusted the man to let him know if he had any news about Illya. The only thing they could do was wait.

And worry...

They were nearing the end of the briefing and Devanne was going over the final details of the mission. This time they would be working under the Frenchman's supervision. They owed this sudden change of plans to the fact that Devanne had finally decided to share some information about the encrypted poetry book Napoleon had found in Shelley's office and their next mission – which had already been carefully planned by Devanne – would be based on that information. Gaby glanced at Napoleon across the table. Of course he did not look happy. She could understand why. He was the one who had found the poetry book and the notebook, they should have had access to the information they contained from the start. The fact that they had had to wait for the French to "graciously" share it with them was annoying, to say the least. Besides, Napoleon could not stand Théophile Devanne. She turned her attention back to the Frenchman and their eyes met briefly. Those were some very green eyes. She looked away and her gaze finally settled on Waverly. He had not said much since the beginning of the meeting. It felt weird, she was so used to him being in charge. She studied his face for a few seconds. Although he was acting like his usual charming self, she could tell that something was bothering him. Maybe it was the fact that he was not in charge this time... Or maybe it was something else. She had seen the same look in his eyes before. Right after Maxime Drancy's death. Maybe he was worried about Illya's fate. Maybe he had not told her everything...

Or maybe he just has stomach cramps, quit imagining things and focus on the mission...

After a few more minutes, the briefing ended. Gaby picked up the mission file in front of her on the table and just as she was standing up, she heard Devanne's voice right next to her.

"Oh, Miss Teller, before you leave, are you sure you don't have any questions about the mission?"

Gaby just stared at him for a second, unsure what his question was all about. Probably noticing the confused look on her face Devanne went on, in his very personal version of an English accent.

"Wouldn't it be a shame if something happened to your team because you missed one crucial detail during the briefing?"

Ah...

Gaby stared at the man for a few more seconds before she answered, trying her best to keep her tone polite.

"No, Sir. I don't have any questions. I think I have all the information I need to not compromise the safety of my team."

"Good. You wouldn't want to lose any more colleagues."

Gaby shot a glance at Napoleon who looked just as angry as she felt, then at Wolf who had a smirk on his face.

"Quant à vous, Briac / As for you, Briac", Devanne added, turning toward Wolf, "essayez de ne pas abattre la cible, cette fois-ci. Ce n'est pas pour ça qu'on vous paye. / Try not to shoot the target dead, this time. That's not what you get paid for."

Gaby felt some measure of satisfaction as Wolf's smirk suddenly disappeared.

"Well since everyone now knows exactly what they should and should not do," Waverly cut in with a pleasant smile, "I think it's time for me to say goodbye to my agents".

To Gaby's surprise, their handler turned to face her, extended his hand and gave her a firm handshake.

"Don't worry, Miss Teller. You'll be in good hands with my colleague. As for you, Solo," he added, turning to Napoleon, "try to stay away from the scalpel-wielding ladies, this time. Théophile is right, we don't want to lose any more agents."

Although he had used a joking tone, Gaby noticed the intensity with which Waverly was staring at Napoleon as he also gave her partner's hand a firm squeeze. Maybe a little too firm, if Napoleon's face was any indication. For a brief moment she thought she could see pain in her partner's eyes.

Well...apparently everyone is a little on edge...it's going to be an interesting mission...

"Théophile.", Waverly finally said, turning toward his colleague. "I understand I'll be seeing you and Rolland again soon."

Devanne nodded and shook Waverly's extended hand. Then their handler left the room and the temperature suddenly seemed to drop a few degrees. Being in "good hands" was one thing. Feeling comfortable around the French was a whole different story.

At least I can count on Napoleon...

End of chapter 5.

Watch out, "Arthur"! :P