Chapter Three
It was dark and raining by the time Illya arrived at the museum. He'd parked his car a few blocks away. Now, he stood outside, looking at the large, grey two-story structure. He was anxious to get inside. He was cold, soaking wet, probably looked like a drowned rat, but he took heart that it would soon be over.
An hour later he watched as the cleaning staff left, their crisp white uniforms bright under the streetlights as they headed to the parking lot. Then he made his way to the sewer opening, pulling the cover off, and climbing inside. He used a special UNCLE tool to pull the cover back over the hole. He didn't want anyone discovering his presence or accidentally falling into the sewer.
Last night he'd studied the schematics to the building, discovering an old entry that had been closed off for at least seventy-five years. This entry could be accessed through the sewer.
Now, he climbed down the attached stairs and was greeted by pure darkness. He reached into his pocket and removed a flashlight and turned it on. It provided a soft glow that allowed him to see what was in store for him.
It wasn't good.
Ahead of him was dirty water, high enough to cover his shoes, the odor overwhelming, like a thousand skunks had bathed in it only moments before.
Then there were the rats, big like cats, standing still even as he moved towards them.
He traveled on, cursing his luck in not finding a better way to enter the building. In movies, they always showed someone dressed in black, slinking down a rope over their target. The entry always seemed to be above whatever they came to steal which was not the case in real life. Real life involved sewers. He'd seen his fair share of them.
Moving slowly, Illya soon found himself in a long tunnel that seemed to lengthen as he moved, rats darting this way and that, his footsteps echoing. All that was needed now was the fabled allegator to appear.
To keep his mind off the bleakness of the moment, Illya focused on his earlier visit to the museum.
It was beautiful, plenty of artwork and benches to observe the images that took his breath away. The music of Mozart played as he sat there for hours. He took his time touring, barely sparing a glance at the cake exhibit. He didn't want to lead THRUSH there, so pretending to enjoy the museum on his day off, seemed like the best option. And it was something he'd done many times.
The cake sculptures had been created by Mr. Antonio Greve and gifted to the museum by the man and his wife to raise money for charity. Whimsical was indeed the right word to describe them. They were all sizes, colors, textures. Some were simple birthday cakes, others wedding or special occasion. There were two with cats perched on top which reminded him of his neighbor.
The woman had left minutes after collecting her pet, but the short time she was in his apartment lingered in his mind. He could still recall the light floral scent of her perfume, her almost cat-like almond shaped blue eyes, the softness of her skin as he took her hand in his upon introduction. She was intriguing and he needed to keep her out of his mind.
Nothing could come of it.
He was an agent with a future written on the wind. His was a dangerous profession and section two agents could not marry. He had nothing to offer a woman like Violet Westfield.
How did his partner do it? Napoleon pursued women with no intentions of having a relationship. He was up front with all of them. They knew what they were getting into; marriage would never be part of the equation.
But Illya needed a soul connection, a meeting of two people who cared for one another. Yes, he'd indulged in casual sex where physical release was his only goal. He'd even had assignments where seduction was the method employed to gather intelligence. But he craved more.
Impossible in his current line of work.
He forced his mind back to his task.
Illya neared a wall and took out the UNCLE provided drill and proceeded to work on it. Soon an opening appeared that was large enough for him to pass through. He was putting the drill away when a rat scurried over his foot. Before he knew it, he'd jumped up, and found himself crashing to the ground. A great wave of filthy water flowed over him like he was a surfer, his face and entire body soaked.
He got up, rubbing his backside and wiping the filthy water from his face. He would not make a good presentation when he appeared in Waverly's office. He'd been told to report directly to the old man no matter the outcome.
Which meant no shower or change of clothes.
There was nothing for it, so he went on, pushing himself into the opening and proceeding onward. The next half hour included climbing through layers of dirt, fighting the occasional spider, dodging rats, but eventually the end came in sight.
Up ahead was a door which he was grateful to find open. He went through it, finding a room that appeared to be for storage. Dust lined the floor-to-ceiling shelves, indicating that it had not seen the light of day for many years. Old things no longer wanted, he figured, looking at a doll on the top of one of the shelves. The doll looked like it was from the nineteen twenties. Illya figured no one had been in this room in decades.
He quickly made his way to the other side, dust spinning in the air grabbing on to his clothes like he was a magnet. The air smelled heavily of musk and his own scent which could only be described as essence of sewer water. Soon he was at a door and opened it cautiously, peering out only after he was certain he hadn't heard anything. He was alone.
Illya checked his watch. Less than forty-five minutes before the guards would start their rounds. He had no time to spare.
He headed in the direction of the exhibit, mindful of the cameras that dotted the building. There weren't many. Later he would speak with Waverly about updating the museum's security. It had been too easy for him to get in. And if he could do it, anyone could.
Illya rounded a corner and saw a woman standing in front of the cat-cake sculptures which sat on tall floor stands. There were two of them on either side of the entry door to the exhibit. Each cat sat on top of a layer cake, their sleek black bodies reminding Illya of the cats used to guard Egyptian tombs. The woman was dressed in the white uniform of the cleaning staff, her hair pulled back in a chignon.
Illya pushed himself into a corner, effectively concealing his body in the dimly lit room. He'd seen the cleaning staff leave. His intel indicated that they always left together. And always at the same time. So, who was she? And why was she here?
Was she a THRUSH agent sent for the microdot?
And how could he possibly complete his mission without alerting the guards to their presence?
His easy affair had just gotten harder.
The woman was blond and slender. She was too short to be Angelique. She had her back to him so he couldn't see her face, but Illya was certain that he knew all the female THRUSH operatives. There was only one blonde among them.
Could be a new recruit.
He watched as she pulled a bag from behind the cat statue. Then she pulled off the white uniform, tossing it behind the stand. A few adjustments around the legs and she stood wearing a skin-tight black body suit. Then she opened the door to the cake room and went inside, closing the door softly behind her.
Was she simply there to rob the museum?
Didn't seem likely because the cake exhibit was of no value. It was merely a bit of fluff that people enjoyed having in their homes. Next year it would be something different.
What was her game?
At any rate, he needed to get moving. The guards would be making their rounds soon.
Illya opened the door and slipped inside, grateful there was a long hallway that separated the entry from the actual exhibit. He walked quietly down the hall, entering the room undetected and slipping behind a large display case.
Now he had a view of the room.
There were sixty cakes on six long tables. The woman moved from one cake to another, always looking inside each layer before moving on. Illya decided to let her find the microdot then take it from her once she left the building. That way no alarms would be triggered in a scuffle. The woman may be small and slender, but Thrush operatives were well trained. He would not underestimate her.
There were only five cakes left to check when Illya observed her taking a large envelope from one and putting it into a satchel. He still couldn't see her face.
Maybe not THRUSH, after all.
Maybe she was there for a different purpose entirely. He had no time to consider. Whatever was in the envelope was of no consequence to him. It was not part of his assignment.
"Don't say a word," he said, stepping away from the display case and walking quickly towards her. "I've no interest in what you have in the envelope. We are here for different purposes, so I ask that you remain calm, so the alarm is not tripped."
She turned slowly. Then he was staring into the face of Violet Westerly.
There was no time to wonder why she was there. Illya moved quickly, checking each cake as he did so, careful to keep an eye on his neighbor who was staring at him open-mouthed. She said nothing as he lifted the top layer of one of the cakes, reached inside, and retrieved the tiny microdot. He'd been lucky to find it so quickly.
Then he was standing in front of her, half expecting to see a gun in her hand, but there was only calm resignation.
Again, he was struck by how familiar she looked. He had a good memory. And one didn't forget women who looked like her. And yet…
Where had he seen her before?
And then the alarm sounded.
tbc