The Man from Yesterday
A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Thirty-Eight : Someday I'll be a Farmer
Rated: PG - 13
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Napoleon reaches the car just as I am loading the hamper into the back seat. "Don't tell me David packed breakfast?"
"Mexican sweet bread. Organic fruit juice. Hot coffee." I hold up a thermos. " Also a list of recommended restaurants if we choose to stop for dinner on the way back."
"Not a bad idea." Napoleon opens the driver's door and holds out his hand for the keys. Naturally. "Either way it's going to be a late day, but a stop in the way back for a quiet dinner...?"
After a moments thought, I relinquish the keys. To have Napasha's company for the long drive? It is worth tolerating his driving. For all my complaints he is competent. Inclined to speed, perhaps, but competent. Our training requires that.
"We could take Highway One back." I take the passenger seat and set the filled coffee mugs in their special holder. "It is slower, but I have always enjoyed the ocean."
"Well, then." Napoleon starts the car and pulls out into the empty street as I fasten my seat belt. "Pick something nice off David's list and we'll celebrate your new education."
"You speak as if my attendance in Santa Barbara was already decided?" Not that I had not been impressed by my previous day's conversation with Dr. Decker, but I had long before learned to take no plan for granted. Not before every aspect was settled. Not even once it was in operation. Sometimes not even when finished. Finished operations had a lethal habit of becoming *unfinished* at the most inopportune times.
Napoleon accelerates as he approaches the freeway on-ramp. "If not, then we'll celebrate your new education somewhere else." His smile dismisses the distinction as unimportant. " Either way, today we're both bound to learn something."
"Also, we already have an appointment for dinner," I remind him.
"Oh, Thats right. Larry's"
Pulling around a truck to reach the fast lane, he hands me one of his recently purchased CD's. I hesitate, but...why not. We are in California, in a convertible, with the top down, driving towards the coast as the first pink light turns turquoise in the eastern sky. If there was ever a perfect time for rock and roll, this surely is it. Popping the bright rainbow disc into the player, I wait until the first notes begin. 'All you Need is Love'. How very true. I raise my coffee cup towards Napoleon.
"To... today."
***************
Once past San Jose, the city and suburb opens into a gentle countryside. Not the combine stripped wide plains of wheat or corn, but the well tended acreage of produce and fruit.
"Beautiful countryside." Napasha gives an accessing look as we pass a large mission-style stucco ranch-house flanked by pink-blooming almond trees.
I check over the fields. Strawberries perhaps? Some low-flowering crop. The rows are neat, the plants healthy. "It is rather nice."
Napoleon drives a few miles further, then looks over at me. "What do you think houses out here cost?"
"Quite a lot," I answer. "Everyone knows California real estate is expensive."
He turns his attention back to the road, but not after a final glance at the grove of peaches on our left. "Still. It is beautiful."
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"I wonder what they are growing?" Napasha asked idly.
"Grapes," I answer, taking in the endless rows of wired greenery.
"Grapes?" Napoleon sounds surprised at my answer. Why, I do not know. I spent enough time in farm labor as a child to remember any number of crops.
"This is the coastal wine country." I point to the wire-strung rows of glossy leaves. "Those are grape vines. Probably pinot noir."
"Wine country?" Napoleon's gaze fastens on the passing countryside with a strange intensity. "Like in France?"
I am tempted to begin a lecture on the geographical differences. For all Napoleon's infinite knowledge of wines, it apparently has escaped his purview that the original produce must be farmed somewhere. I settle for, "Much the same."
He looks over the flanking fields. "I wonder what it would be like to have your own wine?"
"Expensive." I answer.
"Yes, but.." he give a suddenly possessive look at the verdant landscape. "It is beautiful."
*************
We stop outside of Monterey for breakfast. The highway department has apparently built a number of delightful little parks right beside the road. Very convenient. In this particular instance unbelievably so, as a local club has for some reason decided to provide free coffee as well. Not as good as David's coffee, to be sure, but a major step up from the airlines.
The charming grandmother at the kiosk not only gives us fresh cups, she insists on refilling our thermos as well. Such kindness. We enjoy David's breakfast on a table overlooking the ocean. It is beautiful there. So peaceful as we sit in the shade of our ramada and watch the seagulls dive for scraps thrown out over the water. I can understand what Mark found here.
But today? I have an appointment. As does Napoleon. And those, more then the waves or the birds, will determine our futures.
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The final miles past Santa Maria twist through the foothills. Not tall, they are still enough protection to soften the salt of the air and shield the fields from the colder ocean winds. Here the fields are again green and white with the alternating plantings of orange groves and vineyards, broken occasionally by a pasture of glossy-coated horses.
I let my eyes wander over the red-painted barns and white -topped greenhouses. The rose-planted fences banked by wildflowers. The large brick and stucco houses set to catch the high ocean breezes. This is farmland, but *rich* farmland. Not only in its produce, but in its people.
As I finish my survey, a blue flash catches the corner of my eye. Is it? Yes. "Napoleon?" I hold up my hand.
"Yes, Illya?"
"Do you see that car behind us?"
Napoleon makes no betraying movement, but his eyes go at once to the mirrors. "The blue one?"
"Exactly," I confirm. "It has been behind us since we passed Atascadero."
"Probably just a coincidence."
"Perhaps," I grant.
He checks his seat harness. "Maybe I should speed up a little?"
"Maybe you should slow down?" I suggest, taking the cups from their holder and securing them under the seat. Then I check my harness as well.
"That would work too." Napoleon lifts his foot slightly, and the car slows imperceptibly but inevitably. "What are they doing?"
"They are still behind us." I recheck the side mirror. "About the some distance."
"Bad sign." He clicks off the music.
"Very."
I am about to suggest acceleration when a brightly painted sign catches my notice. 'Wine tasting - two miles on right.'
"Napoleon?"
"Illya?"
I point slightly at the sign. "I think we should go to that wine tasting."
"Good idea." Napoleon accelerates and moves into the farthest lane. "Hold on", he adds unnecessarily. Waiting until the last second , he cuts over into the rose-bordered driveway.
The driver behind us is good, clearly a professional, but Napoleon has left him no time to strategise. Move or lose. He chooses to spin sharply and follow us. Tail confirmed.
"Remember," I add as Napoleon races through the vine-decorated parking lot. "April did not want us to shoot anyone."
Napoleon glances back at the blue car, still in unyielding pursuit. "Not if we can avoid it." A sudden left has us plunging through the rose hedge and on to a dirt road.
Pulling on the harness straps, I spin in my seat to face the trailing car. No need for discretion. They know we've seen them. And that we care. And they're still coming. The only question is why?
Sliding out my pistol, I brace my wrist against the neck rest. Hard to aim with the car bouncing so, but....they are not firing yet. A whiz past the window and a ping on the door. Make that *were* not firing. Between the movements of the car and Napoleon's evasive tactics it is hard to get a clear target.
The front passenger leans out, bracing for a shot. I stay tight and fire along the car. Two rounds. The first one misses. the second hits. Low arm, I think. Pistol falling, our attacker jumps back into his seat. Disarmed, but not disabled. Problem. I have to assume he has a backup weapon.
I have six rounds left. My partner has ten, perhaps eleven if he has loaded the barrel. Not enough for a fire fight with three men. Nothing to waste on mere deterrence. I will need to pick my shots carefully.
"Hold on!" Napoleon shouts as he corners sharply, slapping the branches of one of the oaks bordering the rows of vine and scattering twigs and leaves in our wake. The furrow track is narrow - barely wider then our wheels- and grape flower and leaves splash across the windows as he accelerates between the green boundaries.
Our pursuers copy, but not quickly enough. They clip the oak and land on a post. For a moment I let myself hope they are out of the game. No. A roar of motor and tires and they are back. Farther back, but still....
The end of the row. A sharp right and we are back on the farm road, heading around and back to the winery. I look at Napoleon. He gives the sign *hold fire*. Very well. I brace myself. Our car slows a bit. Not enough to be noticed, but... The other car gains on us rapidly. The driver is almost on our back fender and I can see the rear driver aiming when...
A quick flare of red lights, as Napoleon stomps the brakes and cranks the steering wheel, sending the car into a tight spin.
The pursuit driver freezes, brakes, evades. He misses our hood... but not the irrigation ditch to their left. Impact at fifty. The passengers are flung forward, while the nose of the car forces itself deep into the thick red mud. I check out the window. No signs of movement.
Restarting the motor, Napoleon carefully pulls past them and drives on.
"Amazing." I look at the twisted metal behind us, and at the oblivious groups of tourists now leaving the winery. " You did not wreck the car."
"Of course not." Napasha manages to sound shocked at the suggestion.
One of the vineyard workers apparently spots the wreck, because he herds the tourists rapidly back. Several of the brightly dressed figures ignore the man, running though the fields for a better look.
As we pass the parking lot, I hear the first sound of sirens in the distance.
Napoleon restarts the music. "Do you think we should go back and explain matters?"
"I think you should just drive. Slowly and carefully."
We reach the exit, and he pulls back out onto the highway. "Slow and careful. Good idea."
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END CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT