A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Story
by Darklady
Chapter Forty-One: I'd Do It All Over Again
Rated: PG-13
****
"Thank you, George."
"De nada." The young TA answers as he guides me to the library through another maze of temporary structures. "At least, not if we have a chance of getting you down here on a regular basis. I know the salary sort of sucks compared to the cities, but our neighborhoods are way better. We do have the climate. And besides, you can always consult up around the base."
"That is something I will have to consider." I nod politely. "Please, give Dr. Decker my best wishes for his daughter, and tell him I will call within the week."
"Sure thing."
At the sight of the library, George spins and leaves me on my own. I check my watch. It is early, but..? I press the *1 buttons on my new phone.
Two rings and his voice answers. "Yes?"
"Napoleon?" He sounds rather put out. Perhaps I should have waited?
"Illya." His tone lightens. "Don't tell me. You've fallen in love with the lab and you're staying late."
"Actually, today I am finished early. Although if you are busy....?"
"Not at all." There is a faint clatter, perhaps the sound of a chair pushing back. "We were just finishing lunch. I'll be right by."
*************
The benches built into the library entranceway provide an acceptable view and solid cover from three sides. The perfect place to wait. Also, there is a vending machine nearby holding copies of the campus paper. Always a useful source of data. I am checking the 'speakers and activities' list when a squeal of tires announces Napoleon's arrival.
I get in quickly. No sense standing still longer then required.
Presumedly Napoleon agrees. He pulls back out into traffic as soon as my door is closed. Then again, knowing Napasha...perhaps it is just his natural tendency to disregard the speed limits.
"How was your meeting?" he asks.
"All considered, very good." Carefully fastening my seat belt, I move the shoulder strap away from my holster. "Merely somewhat shorter then I might have wished." The covered cups are back in their holder. I heft mine. Full. Most considerate. I take a deep sip. Still hot. Good coffee, too. I give Napasha an appreciative smile before asking "Your's?"
"The fish was wonderful," Napoleon shrugs, "but the deal was fishy. The last time I heard a man use that many adjectives with that few nouns, I ended up taking a scenic tour of Korea."
"My sympathy."
"One bad interview is not a problem." Napasha accelerates up the ramp to pull into traffic just in front of a large delivery truck. "If you like Decker's program we can definitely stay here. Mark and David were right about the recruiters. Three more calls today. Plus whatever came in as messages. I'm bound to find some company I can tolerate. But as you left early I assume...."
"No," I answer carefully. "Dr. Decker was very kind, and his Mad-house is ... interesting. It is merely that he had to go and pick his daughter up from school. An earache, I believe."
"Poor kid." A sharp honk, and the beige sedan beside us moves over, yielding Napasha the lane. "Where is her mother?"
"Working, I believe."
"Oh yes." Napasha pulls into the fast lane. "Women do that now days."
*****
The afternoon is quite hot, compared either to Moscow or New York, but at freeway speeds in an open car the effect is merely one of pleasant warmth. In this direction most of the road is on high ground, and the limited entrances make ambush unlikely. Even so, we are well past Salinas before I can pull my eyes from the mirrors.
"Sorry we couldn't stop at the beach." The Beatles have finished singing. Napasha pops out his disc and replaces it with my 'stress' album. "Perhaps next time."
"Thank you, but I believe I have had enough distraction for the day." I raise the volume slightly. I do not know that the music will be effective, but at the moment? I am willing to give it every chance. "Have you heard from April?"
"Nothing much." Napoleon glances at me. "Do you think that was payback for the Tallin affair?"
"Possibly," I concede, although I set my voice to imply the opposite. "Although I do not see why anyone would gain an advantage. Even if they believe I hindered that one theft...I am not an on-going problem. They will have other chances at Col. Austin."
"I don't like that answer either. But what else could it be? We haven't *seen* anyone interesting since 1968."
"Except Mr. Bond." Who was a most improbable someone. "I am still uncomfortable with that *co-incidence*."
"Likewise. But....." Napoleon pauses, clearly in mental calculation. "No. I can't see it. If 'Her Majesties' wanted us gone..?"
"We would both be in Belarus," I finish. "At the bottom of a mine shaft."
Napoleon pulls over to pass a truck that is blocking his view. "But if all our old enemies are dead?"
"At least retired."
"At least according to April."
I look at Napasha. "That leaves us with?"
"Funny looking guns, monotonously dressed allies...and no target."
The mention of guns has me shifting again. Perhaps I should have changed over? No. Until I can practice, I am better staying with the familiar Makarov. Even with only seven rounds remaining. Still, I slide the strange black case out and tuck it tightly between the seat and the door. Faster access there. Just in case.
Noticing Napoleon go through a similar check, I am reminded. "Do you think we should tell April about the incident in the mall?"
"Not...just yet. If she's already checking things out..."
I nod, acknowledging the near infinite possibilities. "Do you know, Napasha? I think perhaps life was simpler *before * we retired."
**********
Just past Gilmore, my eye is caught my a crudely painted sign propped up by the roadside. 'Farm Stand Ahead...fresh organic strawberries, raspberries, Olallaberries, Fresh pressed organic Cider.'
"Olallaberries?" I ask.
"Never heard of them."
"Do you think David might want some?"
"He's almost as fond of food as you are." Napoleon signals his move over into the right lane. "Besides. It will be a chance to switch drivers."
"You actually want me to drive?" I strive to sound shocked.
"For once, yes." He makes the off ramp with time to spare and moves slowly into the gravel parking lot. "It's been a long day, and if we still have dinner tonight? I could use the break. Just promise me you wont get a ticket for going *below* the speed limit."
Napasha, with his usual luck, pulls into a just-emptied space right in front of the shop. The white painted stand is simple, but larger then I had expected. Long shelves hold flat after flat of ripe apples and pears, while a glass fronted refrigerator case in the back is packed with little green baskets of plump berries. I am reminded of just how long it has been since lunch. Perhaps, in addition to a gift for Mark and David, we should get a small snack for ourselves as well?
Once I have stepped from the car, Napasha carefully puts up the roof and locks the car before doing likewise. I start to tease him about protecting his Beatles' records, then realize.... we are in clear view from the highway. This will also be a good chance to be certain we are *not* being followed.
"Shall I..?"
"No need," Napoleon answers. "You shop. I'll stay with the car."
It is a quick matter to purchase a flat each of the three kinds of berries. The cheerful young lady behind the counter even wraps them in plastic so they will not stain our trunk, and her schoolboy brother offers to carry them out for me. I accept. It is better to have my hands free. And of course I should be glad not to risk berry stains on my jacket. Even so... as I carefully watch the packages being loaded... I realize. David will enjoy the berries. I would have enjoyed buying them with Napasha.
*****
Napoleon hands me the keys, takes the passenger seat, and we return to the road unhindered. All the cars that once shared the road with us are now vanished far ahead. Good. Perhaps April was right, and this morning was merely an industrial incident. In that case once the thieves learn of their error they will stop squandering their resources on a profitless target.
By the time we have passed Milpitas I have all but convinced myself this is true, and am considering what questions I should prepare for this night's dinner. Not that I have not in past days had a list of questions to ask the Director of Laurence Livermore Labs should I ever had the fortune to find myself alone with the man...but somehow I do not think those are quite appropriate to a job interview. At least not for any job I would *want* to do. And really, it has been *years* since my interrogation training.
"Illya?" Napasha interrupts my reverie.
"Yes, Napoleon?"
"Do you see the car behind us?"
I check the mirror. "The green car?"
"Exactly." He makes a slight adjustment to his side mirror. "It has been behind us since San Jose."
"I will slow down."
"Or you could speed up."
"Yes. That would work too." I press down gently on the accelerator. Not enough to appear unnatural, but enough to send us past the regular flow of traffic. "What are they doing?"
"Still behind us. Same distance."
That is bad. I am considering cutting between two trucks to force them in to open action when I spot a large billboard just off to the right. It reads 'Tiny Naylor's - Next Offramp - One Mile'
"Hold on."
Waiting until the trucks are in block position, I cut between them and bounce over the median barely making the off ramp. The pursuit car almost falls for that trick, which would have brought them under the truck, but at the last moment the driver breaks and safely cuts behind. Worse sign. The man is a pro. Very well, no easy out.
"Can you get a shot?"
"Soon." Napoleon braces himself on the seat.
I cut sharply right, then left again, sending us into a tight turn. The other driver sees the first turn, but misjudges it, pulling to the left in an effort to pass us. Instead he runs past.
Two sharp pings. There is a shooter in the back. One experienced enough to anticipate this chance and cool enough to take it. Almost accurate enough to make it count. Very bad.
Napoleon snaps off five rounds. One for the drivers window, one for the rear, and three for the trailing tire. The first two miss. At least one of the last three makes contact. The tire explodes, and at this speed the driver has no chance to compensate. More so since he is currently trying to break. He spins out and slams passenger-side into the sound-wall. The force sends the car sliding hood first into the drainage ditch running below.
I drive past carefully as Napoleon watches for movement. There is none. Good.
As I turn carefully up to the on-ramp, Napoleon asks. "Didn't we just do that this morning?"
"I think you had best call April.
Napoleon looks at his watch. "Eight PM in New York. Do you have her home number?"
******
He clips the phone to the drink holder and turns up the volume so I can hear it. Five rings, then... a young voice. " Yes. Who is it?"
"April Dancer, please."
"Mom." A shout. "It's for you. Some guy."
A sound of doors, then...in the background.. "Hang up, dear. I'll take it in the den." Another few beeps, then.... "Dancer here."
"April?"
"Napoleon?"
"I'm afraid we just left another car in the ditch."
The sound of a chair shifting. "I knew you couldn't drive."
"Illya was driving."
"Illya ditched a car?" She sounds properly incredulous.
"Well," Napoleon becomes charming. "Not OUR car."
"Don't tell me. Another car chase." The sharp background sound of a scrambler comes over the line briefly, then she continues. " You didn't shoot anyone, did you?"
"Of course not. You asked us not to. Although I think they took a shot at us. And the rental company is not going to be happy with bullet holes in the paint"
"OK," April sighs. "Give me your location and I'll send out another team. Or should I just send back the same one you had this morning?"
END CHAPTER FORTY-ONE