The Layer Cake
Affair
by
M. Willow
A/N: This story was the result of a prompt from the Man from U.N.C.L.E Section VII Facebook group. Use the word Cake in a story.
The characters are not mine no matter how much I want them.
It has been a long time since I wrote for this fandom. I would greatly appreciate reviews.
This is what Illya saw: Fluffy white frosting, strawberries and golden leaves atop three layers of mouth-watering cake. It was a dessert Illya wished was sitting in front of him now, instead of the picture he was currently holding.
"Mr. Kuryakin, I'm certain this affair will be completed in short order. I dare say, in time for your rendezvous with Mr. Solo at that…that Victorian house of his."
The old man lit a pipe and looked at him thoughtfully.
They were sitting in the conference room at UNCLE headquarters. But Illya had hoped to be on his way to the quiet suburb of Shady Oaks and the Victorian house Napoleon had purchased a few years earlier. The house had become a retreat for him and his partner as well as April Dancer who was currently stationed in London. All three were best friends. They each had a room at the house and were seldom there at the same time. But this week would be different. Both he and Napoleon had been given two weeks of vacation, a reward for months of death-defying affairs that had taken them all over the world.
Illya desperately needed the rest. Yet here he was sitting in the conference room with Waverly, looking at a picture of a layer cake.
"The cake, sir?" Illya asked, putting the picture on the table.
Waverly drew from his pipe, grey smoke rising in the air. "Yes. Of course. The cake is not real. It is a sculpture, you see."
Illya put his reading glasses on and glanced at the picture once more before facing Waverly. "It is quite an accomplishment to achieve such a realistic appearance."
"Indeed. Whimsical would be the word to best describe it. It is all the rage to have one of these in your home. But now, it presents a problem."
He listened as Waverly summarized how their agent had hidden a microdot containing a super-computer design inside a layer of the cake. Apparently, each layer could be separated, allowing for storage inside. Illya couldn't imagine wanting something like that in his home.
"Finding this microdot is of some importance," Waverly continued. "It will prevent us from having to blow it up later."
Illya looked at Waverly. "What would prevent them from simply ordering another copy?"
"The designer is deceased. A heart attack, I'm told."
Waverly drew from his pipe and looked at him thoughtfully. "Our agent was attempting to avoid THRUSH operatives. The cake seemed an excellent hiding place. I dare say, we are indeed lucky to know of its whereabouts. It should be an easy affair, Mr. Kuryakin, especially for one of your expertise."
Illya nodded, accepting the compliment with trepidation. Easy affairs had a tendency of becoming difficult in seconds. "Can we contact the museum and pick it up today?"
"I do not want the museum to be aware of the affair, Mr. Kuryakin. I prefer keeping civilian involvement to a minimum. You must retrieve the microdot without fanfare."
Illya managed to keep his face neutral. Without fanfare meant no sleep darts.
"Our man was captured a few blocks from the museum but did not divulge the location of the microdot." Waverly tapped his pipe on the table. "Fortunately, we were able to rescue him before that could occur. Unfortunately, he was searched before the rescue, so THRUSH is aware that he hid the microdot somewhere in the area of the museum. And now, you see the problem."
But Illya didn't see a problem at all. How hard could it be to call the museum and ask to search the cake? They were, after all, a well-known and respected law enforcement agency. But he knew better than to question Waverly's judgement.
Still, how difficult could it be to retrieve a microdot from a cake?
The answer came shortly.
"Of course, the picture you have is a mere sample of the types of cakes featured."
Illya's heartbeat quickened.
"The name of the exhibit is called," Waverly opened a folder and took out a sheet of paper. "The Whimsical World of Layer Cakes. The intent is to sale the sculptures to raise money for charities. Some of the cakes have been donated by various people, others are newly created by the artist. "Waverly looked down at the paper and started reading. "Have your cake, but don't eat it. Come to our annual event to raise money for charities. Come see who will take the cake." He put the paper back in the folder and picked up his pipe. "I'm told people are quite anxious to have one of these in their possession."
The blood in Illya's ears roared. The proverbial other shoe was about to drop.
"Two days from now, there will be sixty cakes on display, Mr. Kuryakin. Each will be unique, each layer interchangeable, and we have no idea which cake our agent put the microdot in because in his haste to hide the item, he failed to remember what the cake looked like. He's new, as you may recall."
And if Illya was the sort of man who screamed, he would have done so at that time, a loud, rip-roaring sound that would have made the roar of a lion seem subdued.
TBC