The Man from Yesterday
A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Twenty-Two : Wild World
Rated: PG
*******
The concourse is filled with tiny shops. Most of then are tourist frivolities - quite useless - but one by its sign claims to be a bookstore. Rather small. No matter. Even a good magazine stand might help. I turn to Napoleon. "You buy the tickets. I need to do some research."
I was right. A good magazine stand is closer to what this is. Most of the shelves hold pulp romances in a range of languages. That, and dubious English pot-boilers. No matter. In the history section I find several works of interest.
Picking up what I need, I pay the clerk and catch up with Napoleon at the ticket desk. "London?" I ask, glancing down at the tickets in his hand.
"Next flight out," he answers, "and we both had friends there."
True. Although time is more the question. Old Survival School lesson. The quicker we move, the better our chances. As it is, we make this flight with only a few more seconds to spare then our last. No problem. This plane is far less crowded, and with a few words to the stewardess Napoleon secures our preferred seats.
We are in the air before he takes notice of my purchases. "What did you get? Roman murder mysteries?"
I hold up a paperback titled - Sword and Fire - My Life in the KGB in Peace and War. It was a shock to see such a thing, but I am desperate for answers. Not yet desperate enough to want the truth on every airport counter - but just now even pravda will help.
Napoleon grins and snatches the book from my hand.
"What are you...?" I start.
"What I always do with histories." He grins and rifles the pages. "Checking the back to see if anyone I know is in there. Kassourny. Kochova, ah. Kuryakin. Page 327."
"It cannot be...."
"Dr. Illya Kuryakin joined me in October at the base in....."
"What?" My voice rises despite myself. "That is classified." I reach for the volume but he moves it out of range.
"Not any more." He reads quickly down the page. "I didn't know you were with the atomic program."
I crane over his shoulder to see a picture of a very young blond in a lab coat standing before a chalk board, surrounded by several older men in uniform. It takes a moment for me to recognize myself. Was I ever that young? I do not remember being so, although I remember the room and the occasion.
When I sit back, Napoleon continues. "Makes sense. Your degree in physics and all that." I hold out my hand, and he wisely surrenders the book. "So that's where you got your bomb-building skills?"
I *look* at him. "Explosives are explosives - and I am *still* not talking about it."
"No need." He gives my an intolerably smug smile. " But now I know why Research was so hostile when Waverly tagged you."
Annoying man. He never could tolerate mystery. In our profession that can be a blessing - and a curse. Just now, I would tend towards curse.
"Here - read your own book!" I hand him one of my other purchases. Ghost War - Special Forces in Korea . Hopefully that will bring some discretion.
"Hey!" He takes the book and again flips to the back. "Colonel Morgan is in here. I wonder if he mentions me. We were together at Hyesan."
"Please." Taking my own book, I turn carefully to the introduction. "Spare me the sordid details of your military adventures."
I have a bit of peace while he scans through this volume ,sporadically reciting a name or location that brings back some memory. Ocassionally he checks over my shoulder for anything I may have found interesting. For the most part I ignore him. I am too busy calculating the damage in my own volume. No time for a through review. I am reduced to Napoleon's technique of scanning the back for clues. Fortunately, I find none of the *truly* sensitive names I know. Small blessing, but just now I will take what mercies there are.
*********
When the stewardess arrives with the drink cart we tuck away our respective books. Not that they were not on public display, but still...we can finish them later.
"Anything for you?" She smiles at Napoleon.
"Yes, Vodka," I answer. It is still early, but I have earned it.
"Scotch." Napoleon looks up. "Double." He hands her a bill in exchange for the little bottles, then waves off the change. So. Despite his bonhomie Napoleon is not enjoying his little cruise down memory lane. Not that one could tell from his expression - but one never can. Not even from his eyes. Annoying in a lover, but an asset for a spy. He takes a long drink before asking. " Any other little revelations in your bag?"
I give him his choice. The Time/Life Review of the Twentieth Century, or The New York Times European Edition. Lighter, but enough for now. Napoleon, being Napoleon, chooses the pictures.
I am in the middle of an interesting article on EU produce standards when Napoleon sits up, shocked. "Illya. They outlawed flirting!"
"What?" I look over at him. "I do not believe that is possible."
"Here." He folds open the pages and hands it to me. "Look!"
I skim the page. Napoleon is right. There is a long article about someone named Clarence Thomas, who apparently ended up in court for offering some woman a soda.
Napasha drops back into his seat. "I could be in a lot of trouble!"
I flip through the pages. This story is part of a whole section titled 'Sexual Politics'. No wonder Napoleon read this part first. I am about to hand it back when another page catches my eye. Something about San Francisco and Pride? I scan down. No. Even in the moral decay of America, that could never be possible. But...? "Perhaps you can flirt with me?"
"I wish."
"Do you?" I hand him the article. "If we are ever assigned to California, perhaps it is you who will be in the trouble."
"Who ever said I minded trouble?" is his automatic response. Then he reads the page. And re-reads it. Carefully. "Do you think?"
"In New York?" My tone is answer enough. "Do not be ridiculous." Although in the Village...I put the question from my mind. Some things are too dangerous even to dream about. Certainly not safe to discuss where there are ears. "I am going to sleep. Wake me when we are about to land."
*****************
"We're landing." Those are the first words I hear. Napoleon has let me sleep, and I feel much better for the rest. Hungry, perhaps, but better. We say nothing more as we go through the landing ritual.
Heathrow is more crowded then I remember, but the layout is the same. We find a quiet bar and reconnoiter. A trouser clad waitress brings our drinks and leaves us alone.
"Should we try for New York?"I ask.
Napoleon considers as he sips his Scotch."It seems the only option left."
"They will likely know we are coming."
"Yes." He looks down at his drink.
"Perhaps we should just call April and let her know?"
"Do you still have the number she gave you?" Napoleon asks.
"Naturally." I *never* lose information.
"No." He finishes his drink and puts a bill under the glass. "I am beginning to trust, but still - let's try and surprise them."
***********
I wait in the lobby and watch. Napoleon checks the overhead monitor then targets a ticket desk. One marked Executive Service Only. A pretty red-head is alone behind the counter. "Hello beautiful." Even from here I can feel the charm. His charisma is at top voltage. "What is your next best flight to New York?"
She does not even resist before she crumbles. "On the Concorde? I think that's full, but.. perhaps ..."
An even flashier brunette cuts in. "No. It's not. We just took three cancellations." She throws her shoulders back and hits Napoleon with a blinding smile. " Lucky for you."
"My lucky day."
The brunette has managed to elbow the redhead aside. "My manager was pashed, because it was a VIP cancellation."
"How sad.... for him." His voice is a caress.
"I don't mind." By her tone, she was delighted. "He was an old guy. Kelly Robinson? Do you remember him?"
Napoleon recognizes the name, and his smile gets wider. "Tennis player?"
"Used to be. Now he owns some pudding company. Always on TV. But rich?" She makes a gesture of exaggerated hautur. "You better believe it. Still travels to all the games with his old coach. Big fuss when they flew in last week. Mr. Willis wanted photogs on the way out. But instead they are going over to Berlin. Bad for old Willis. Good for you."
The red-head cuts back in. "Lucy, isn't there a standby list?"
That earns her a look of sisterly contempt. "And he... is standing by."
Napoleon gives the two women another look that has them both blushing. Soon they are working together to issue the desired tickets. With a final kiss of hands, he is back from his mission.
"Overnight flight."
"I thought you said they had outlawed flirting."
"So I'm a criminal." He waves the ticket envelope. " At least I'm a successful criminal." Which is, in the end, what matters.
He hands me my ticket. I check the departure time and check the airport clock. "Four hours." I reset my watch. "Nearly dinner time. Shall we try for the city?"
"Let's check if there's a decent restaurant nearby."
"I did not pack a suit." In fact, I may now not even own one. Not a fashion item I would truly miss, but few decent places will seat a man without a tie.
Napoleon pauses. "That shouldn't matter so much at an airport." He turns and heads back to the ticket counter. "Lucy, darling?" He asks the brunette. "Is there a really first rate restaurant in this place? Somewhere I could take someone... important?"
"Why, yes." Her chest gets impossibly bigger. I am amazed her lungs can hold that much pressure. "The Aerosquadron. Or the Stratotower if you really want a splurge."
"Thanks." He gives her a little salute. "We'll have to check it out when I come back.
When he gets back to me he is humming. "Ready for dinner, Illya?"
I give him the *look*. "Now I know why I work in law enforcement."
**********
Napoleon being Napoleon, he inevitably picks the more elaborate choice. The Stratotower is just that - a tower rising well above the main buildings, with a magnificent view of the runways below. I can remember times I would have been grateful for such a view for other reasons then esthetics. Now they let people up here to drink? Oh brave new world.
The tuxedoed maitre-de sniffs a bit, but does not comment on my attire. Merely waves over a black-gowned woman who shows us to an excellent window table. One with a perfect view of all three runways.
The interior is the traditional splendor of red carpet and white linen. I know Napasha expects a protest, but... my heart is not in it. Not today.
A young man brings us the menus, and tuxedoed woman carries over a wine list. Napoleon hands it back and orders something complicated and French. From the lady's impressed look, it was either an excellent choice or an expensive one. Knowing my partner, more likely both.
I look over the menu. Some new things. Some familiar. Rather a lot of pasta for anyplace that isn't Italian. Although from the dishes, it's somewhat a question just what nationality the chef is striving for.
Napoleon grins at me, anticipating a comment.
"Expensive." It would not do to disappoint him. And I often suspect that half his pleasure in extravagance comes from my complaints.
"Who cares." The young woman has arrived with the wine, and they go through the ritual of cork-sniffing before he lets her pour. " We have more then enough to reach New York."
There is that. I check the other diners. Amazing. At least half them men here are garbed as casually as I am - or more so.
Napasha catches my distraction. "What are you watching?"
"The clothes."
Napoleon follows my glance to one especially outrageous table, where a muscular black man has replaced the traditional neckwear with an endless succession of gold chains. He is surrounded by a flock of young women, and deep in debate with a spectacularly handsome blonde man wearing a well tailored suit. A third man, brunette and intense, ignores them in favor of shredding bread rolls, while the oldest puffs his cigar and views the whole contremps with amused disdain. Whatever the argument, I know who will settle it.
"I told you I would have to burn this tie."
"Burn all of mine too." I offer. "From the looks of things, I will never have to wear a tie again."
"Well, that's something." He raises his wine glass. "To Thursday."
"Thursday." I answer with mine.
END CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO