ACT II: "You Are My Best Author!"
Napoleon left the Kozlov estate when the snowstorm and darkness covered his retreat. He wasn't able to find his partner anywhere, and didn't want to risk discovery by the guards. Kozlov was gone from the house and now Solo had to come up with Plan B. The first step was to get information on Kozlov's future movements from the back up team. He glanced at his watch; Mark , April Dr. Timmons, would be at the meeting place in town at 9 a.m.
The doc sure wasn't needed for Plan A anymore. Solo sighed and pulled out his communicator.
"Open Channel D, overseas relay." The American was safe in his warm car and driving into town, his thoughts on his missing partner. Illya had to show up sometime; Solo just hoped it wasn't during the spring thaw.
*********
The night was long and Kat's fire was very welcome, but the injured agent was uneasy about her presence even knowing that Kozlov's security wouldn't be looking for them.
He tried to stay awake - Kat had dozed off around midnight - but Illya felt his body growing weaker and was almost afraid to sleep. He might not wake up again.
Every move was agonizing. He was sure there were broken ribs and possibly some internal damage as a result. At least the arteries and major veins were intact; he would have bled out long ago if that were not the case. His left leg continually tingled, and he couldn't feel his left arm at all. His gun was still tucked in his holster at his side but he left it there, not wanting to scare the girl. Besides, he wasn't sure he had the strength to hold on to it if he got it out.
Slowly and painfully he felt for his communicator with his good hand. It was gone, probably freezing in the snowdrifts above. The search exhausted him, which made him realize the low probabilities of getting out of this cave. Shock was beginning to take its toll.
A plan - he had to think of a plan. Hopefully, Napoleon would follow the procedures they had put together before coming here instead of hunting for him. That means he would meet the rest of the team in town in the morning. Illya doubted very much that he would be able to get there. A message would have to be sent.
His eyes were heavy with weariness, and he blinked slowly at the girl next to him, snuggled under the shared sleeping bag. He hated to think it, but she was the only way.
"Kat," he mumbled, fighting to keep his eyes open. "Kat!" Weakly, he reached over and shook her.
She jerked awake; her eyes wild for a moment while her sleepy brain registered her surroundings. "What?" She said, sitting up quickly and rubbing her eyes. "What's wrong?"
"You need to listen to me. I don't have a lot of time."
His voice was low, scratchy and much weaker than she remembered. Whatever color had been in the agent's face was now gone. Kat couldn't help but compare his complexion to the skin of the dead man's hand outside and a feeling of fear tickled her gut.
"I'm listening," she said quietly, taking his hand in hers.
*****************
Kat's palms were slick with sweat beneath her mittens and she had to consciously keep herself from rubbing her hands on her thighs in nervousness. As she moved among the sparse crowd of the small town, Illya's description of Napoleon Solo ran constantly through her mind like a mantra to calm her nerves.
*He would be meeting with his backup team at a tavern,* he said. *There should be at least four in the group, one woman and three men. Solo would be in charge and talking. One of the other men would have an British accent. The woman would be beautiful but bundled up for weather in practical cold weather gear - not the fashion plate women normally seen on these streets - but stylish in her own way. The remaining man, a doctor, would be thin and tall with dark red hair.*
Painfully aware of the security men tailing her, and now aware that they probably had an allegiance to THRUSH rather than her family, appearing to be simply curious and not scared to death was not as easy as she thought it would be. Kat forced herself to walk calmly and carefully and check out each and every window on the main drive as she worked toward the tavern. It was almost nine o'clock. Kat wondered if she'd be able to pick out Illya's partner, but Illya's words reassured her as she ran them through her mind.
*Trust me, you will notice him. Most females do. He will find your English charming and continue to talk to you in that language because his Russian is dismal, but the woman with him is very well versed in our language. So is the doctor. Between the two of them, they will absorb everything, but may not say much to you. Just keep talking. Tell them everything I've told you. Fall back into Russian when you have to. You'll do very well, Kat.*
She had noticed that the agent's voice was getting softer. He was losing his energy and needed help fast. Kat straightened her shoulders. She would not disappoint him. She'd left the cave at first light, when his voice was only a mere whisper and wasn't sure he even knew she'd gone.
The next place was the tavern she sought. Dark and smoky like the rest of the half-dozen taverns on this block, this one was more crowded than the others. She'd never been inside a place like this before and she had to admit it looked cozy. The smells emanating from the open door were warm, smoky and inviting. The small purchase she had made to justify her trip to town dangled from her wrist in a bag, forgotten. She didn't think the security men were suspicious at all about her real motive.
*Napoleon will try to blend in with a crowd, Illya had told her. He'll be, away from the door, but facing it.*
She paused, and then leaned part way in the door for a better look.
One of the bodyguards suddenly appeared at her side. "Miss Katherine," he said lowly. "That is no place for a young girl."
"Wait." She raised her hand to quiet him. "I think I know someone in there." It was a small place and easily examined from the doorway. She looked carefully, drawn to the small cluster of people in the far corner.
Four people, and the one facing the door leaned in to the group and was doing all the talking. His motions seemed urgent. She focused on the speaker through the cigarette smoke and saw exactly what Kuryakin meant - the dark, smoldering eyes and rakish hair of the American in the meager light was, indeed, eye catching. Kat tore her eyes away and studied his small group. They were just as Illya had described - one woman and two other men barely visible in the poor lighting and smoky haze. Her heart rate shot up; it was show time.
She put on a bright expression for the guard and spoke excitedly. "I thought so! I heard he would be in town!" She took a step through the door. The guard pulled her up short.
"Your father would fire me if I let you . . ."
"Stepfather," Kat corrected firmly as she angrily met his eyes. "And if you have a problem, take it up with my mother, not him. She will approve. That man in there is an author, my favorite author, and I'm going to talk to him." The lie came out so smoothly she even surprised herself. "Now let go of me."
The guard reluctantly released her but followed closely behind as she approached Solo. Kat's nervousness lessened as she fell into her role. Her eyes locked on her target.
Solo, aware someone was coming his way, did a double take when he realized whom she was. He stopped speaking and quietly watched her approach with dark, brooding eyes.
"Excuse me," Kat started in careful English. "I introduce myself because you are my . . . best . . . author!" She pulled off her mitten and stuck out her hand. He took it carefully, but firmly. She could see his mind working behind his charming hazel eyes.
"I think you mean 'favorite', not 'best', but you speak English very well." His voice was low and sultry, and his eyes sparkled with curiosity. He rose gracefully to his feet and took her hand. "You have me at a disadvantage, Miss . . ?"
"Kat. Katherine Tarasov." Her grip was tight and slick with sweat. She was sure he could read the fear in her eyes and feel the tremble in her hand. "I do not mean to . . . to . . . " She wrinkled her brow. "Interr . . ." She stumbled over the word.
"Interrupt? By no means, Miss Tarasov, there is no reason to apologize." A wavy haired blond with an English accent stood quickly and reached for her hand. "I'm Mark." She released Solo's hand and took Mark's.
As Mark spoke to her, Solo glanced at April who shrugged her shoulders in uncertainty. Always alert, April turned her eyes to give the security man with Kat a thorough look over. Then she, too, rose.
"April. Pleased to meet you." She'd said every word in perfect Russian for this area. "And this is Dr. Timmons." Kat took his hand briefly and smiled. The doctor greeted her if perfect Russian also, and she inwardly sighed in a bit of relief. She then turned back to Solo.
"Um, I wanted to tell you . . ." She struggled with the English.
April smiled sympathetically. "I can translate, Miss Tarasov, if you'd like."
Kat gave her a grateful smile, and nodded. She continued in Russian but kept her eyes on the handsome American. "I just wanted to tell you that my favorite story is the one you wrote about the lost knight." She looked right in his eyes when she said it and she saw them widen slightly with the translation. "You know, the white knight on his quest."
"Yes," he said slowly. "I know the story you mean." Solo straightened his tie and offered her a seat.
Kat glanced at the security man. "Nyet, but thank you, I cannot stay. I just wanted to say how I like your writing and it has helped me with my English." She inhaled nervously. "I especially like the part where the knight gets hurt but still has the determination to finish his quest." When she held Solo's eyes, she saw one corner of his mouth lift into a smile when April finished speaking.
"Yes, he is a very determined character," Solo replied slowly. "And stubborn. Did you notice that?"
Her eyes sparkled when April translated with a chuckle. They understood! "Yes. Very . . . stubborn." She said in English. She turned to look directly at Dr. Timmons and continued in Russian. "Our knight could have used a doctor in the story, but time and place would make that difficult, I would say."
The doctor's eyes stayed with hers and remained calm. "Yes. But that would change the story, wouldn't it?"
Kat smiled. "Yes. It would have saved our hero a lot of pain, and possibly saved his life in the end, I would say." Dr. Timmons nodded in full understanding and continued to smile, but Kat noted how his fingers began to nervously tangle with his napkin.
Kat returned her attention to the senior agent and put her hand on top of Solo's. "My only regret is that the book is at my home. I would love to have you sign it. Will you be in town very long? I can go get it."
Solo digested that information for a moment and said slowly, "It depends on my business here. How far away is your home?" His eyebrows arched pleasantly. Kat realized he was asking where his partner was.
She changed to English so the guard would not understand. She hoped he didn't understand, anyway, so she still spoke carefully. "Up the main road. A river goes under a bridge before our house. This weather makes it sometimes not . . .um. . ." She rolled her wrist, indicating her search for a word. Solo turned to April.
"Not passable?" April said in Russian.
"Yes, thank you. Not passable." Kat leaned in closer to April in the pretense of warmly shaking her hand, and quickly whispered in Russian. "There's a cave in the wall of the ravine about one kilometer north from the road. Look for this," she tossed her bright scarf over her shoulder and straightened up, smiling nervously. "I could go get the book, or if you have time, perhaps you could come by for lunch or supper. My mother would love to meet you."
"That is impossible, I'm sorry." Solo glanced at his watch. "We will be leaving soon." He extended his hand. "It was so very nice to meet you, Miss Tarasov. Your English is remarkable. I'm glad my books help you with my language." Solo pulled a pen from his pocket, leaned over a cocktail napkin and scribbled a short note along with his signature. "Here you go. Press that in your book, and maybe we will meet again." He shook her hand warmly and pressed the napkin in her palm. She stuffed it in her coat pocket without looking at it.
"Yes. Thank you. Nice to meet you all." She smiled and made her way out the bar with the feeling that a huge weight had just been lifted from her shoulders- Illya was going to get some help.
The security man was still right on her heels. "I think I'll be going home now," she said to him with a smug smile.
Napoleon left the Kozlov estate when the snowstorm and darkness covered his retreat. He wasn't able to find his partner anywhere, and didn't want to risk discovery by the guards. Kozlov was gone from the house and now Solo had to come up with Plan B. The first step was to get information on Kozlov's future movements from the back up team. He glanced at his watch; Mark , April Dr. Timmons, would be at the meeting place in town at 9 a.m.
The doc sure wasn't needed for Plan A anymore. Solo sighed and pulled out his communicator.
"Open Channel D, overseas relay." The American was safe in his warm car and driving into town, his thoughts on his missing partner. Illya had to show up sometime; Solo just hoped it wasn't during the spring thaw.
*********
The night was long and Kat's fire was very welcome, but the injured agent was uneasy about her presence even knowing that Kozlov's security wouldn't be looking for them.
He tried to stay awake - Kat had dozed off around midnight - but Illya felt his body growing weaker and was almost afraid to sleep. He might not wake up again.
Every move was agonizing. He was sure there were broken ribs and possibly some internal damage as a result. At least the arteries and major veins were intact; he would have bled out long ago if that were not the case. His left leg continually tingled, and he couldn't feel his left arm at all. His gun was still tucked in his holster at his side but he left it there, not wanting to scare the girl. Besides, he wasn't sure he had the strength to hold on to it if he got it out.
Slowly and painfully he felt for his communicator with his good hand. It was gone, probably freezing in the snowdrifts above. The search exhausted him, which made him realize the low probabilities of getting out of this cave. Shock was beginning to take its toll.
A plan - he had to think of a plan. Hopefully, Napoleon would follow the procedures they had put together before coming here instead of hunting for him. That means he would meet the rest of the team in town in the morning. Illya doubted very much that he would be able to get there. A message would have to be sent.
His eyes were heavy with weariness, and he blinked slowly at the girl next to him, snuggled under the shared sleeping bag. He hated to think it, but she was the only way.
"Kat," he mumbled, fighting to keep his eyes open. "Kat!" Weakly, he reached over and shook her.
She jerked awake; her eyes wild for a moment while her sleepy brain registered her surroundings. "What?" She said, sitting up quickly and rubbing her eyes. "What's wrong?"
"You need to listen to me. I don't have a lot of time."
His voice was low, scratchy and much weaker than she remembered. Whatever color had been in the agent's face was now gone. Kat couldn't help but compare his complexion to the skin of the dead man's hand outside and a feeling of fear tickled her gut.
"I'm listening," she said quietly, taking his hand in hers.
*****************
Kat's palms were slick with sweat beneath her mittens and she had to consciously keep herself from rubbing her hands on her thighs in nervousness. As she moved among the sparse crowd of the small town, Illya's description of Napoleon Solo ran constantly through her mind like a mantra to calm her nerves.
*He would be meeting with his backup team at a tavern,* he said. *There should be at least four in the group, one woman and three men. Solo would be in charge and talking. One of the other men would have an British accent. The woman would be beautiful but bundled up for weather in practical cold weather gear - not the fashion plate women normally seen on these streets - but stylish in her own way. The remaining man, a doctor, would be thin and tall with dark red hair.*
Painfully aware of the security men tailing her, and now aware that they probably had an allegiance to THRUSH rather than her family, appearing to be simply curious and not scared to death was not as easy as she thought it would be. Kat forced herself to walk calmly and carefully and check out each and every window on the main drive as she worked toward the tavern. It was almost nine o'clock. Kat wondered if she'd be able to pick out Illya's partner, but Illya's words reassured her as she ran them through her mind.
*Trust me, you will notice him. Most females do. He will find your English charming and continue to talk to you in that language because his Russian is dismal, but the woman with him is very well versed in our language. So is the doctor. Between the two of them, they will absorb everything, but may not say much to you. Just keep talking. Tell them everything I've told you. Fall back into Russian when you have to. You'll do very well, Kat.*
She had noticed that the agent's voice was getting softer. He was losing his energy and needed help fast. Kat straightened her shoulders. She would not disappoint him. She'd left the cave at first light, when his voice was only a mere whisper and wasn't sure he even knew she'd gone.
The next place was the tavern she sought. Dark and smoky like the rest of the half-dozen taverns on this block, this one was more crowded than the others. She'd never been inside a place like this before and she had to admit it looked cozy. The smells emanating from the open door were warm, smoky and inviting. The small purchase she had made to justify her trip to town dangled from her wrist in a bag, forgotten. She didn't think the security men were suspicious at all about her real motive.
*Napoleon will try to blend in with a crowd, Illya had told her. He'll be, away from the door, but facing it.*
She paused, and then leaned part way in the door for a better look.
One of the bodyguards suddenly appeared at her side. "Miss Katherine," he said lowly. "That is no place for a young girl."
"Wait." She raised her hand to quiet him. "I think I know someone in there." It was a small place and easily examined from the doorway. She looked carefully, drawn to the small cluster of people in the far corner.
Four people, and the one facing the door leaned in to the group and was doing all the talking. His motions seemed urgent. She focused on the speaker through the cigarette smoke and saw exactly what Kuryakin meant - the dark, smoldering eyes and rakish hair of the American in the meager light was, indeed, eye catching. Kat tore her eyes away and studied his small group. They were just as Illya had described - one woman and two other men barely visible in the poor lighting and smoky haze. Her heart rate shot up; it was show time.
She put on a bright expression for the guard and spoke excitedly. "I thought so! I heard he would be in town!" She took a step through the door. The guard pulled her up short.
"Your father would fire me if I let you . . ."
"Stepfather," Kat corrected firmly as she angrily met his eyes. "And if you have a problem, take it up with my mother, not him. She will approve. That man in there is an author, my favorite author, and I'm going to talk to him." The lie came out so smoothly she even surprised herself. "Now let go of me."
The guard reluctantly released her but followed closely behind as she approached Solo. Kat's nervousness lessened as she fell into her role. Her eyes locked on her target.
Solo, aware someone was coming his way, did a double take when he realized whom she was. He stopped speaking and quietly watched her approach with dark, brooding eyes.
"Excuse me," Kat started in careful English. "I introduce myself because you are my . . . best . . . author!" She pulled off her mitten and stuck out her hand. He took it carefully, but firmly. She could see his mind working behind his charming hazel eyes.
"I think you mean 'favorite', not 'best', but you speak English very well." His voice was low and sultry, and his eyes sparkled with curiosity. He rose gracefully to his feet and took her hand. "You have me at a disadvantage, Miss . . ?"
"Kat. Katherine Tarasov." Her grip was tight and slick with sweat. She was sure he could read the fear in her eyes and feel the tremble in her hand. "I do not mean to . . . to . . . " She wrinkled her brow. "Interr . . ." She stumbled over the word.
"Interrupt? By no means, Miss Tarasov, there is no reason to apologize." A wavy haired blond with an English accent stood quickly and reached for her hand. "I'm Mark." She released Solo's hand and took Mark's.
As Mark spoke to her, Solo glanced at April who shrugged her shoulders in uncertainty. Always alert, April turned her eyes to give the security man with Kat a thorough look over. Then she, too, rose.
"April. Pleased to meet you." She'd said every word in perfect Russian for this area. "And this is Dr. Timmons." Kat took his hand briefly and smiled. The doctor greeted her if perfect Russian also, and she inwardly sighed in a bit of relief. She then turned back to Solo.
"Um, I wanted to tell you . . ." She struggled with the English.
April smiled sympathetically. "I can translate, Miss Tarasov, if you'd like."
Kat gave her a grateful smile, and nodded. She continued in Russian but kept her eyes on the handsome American. "I just wanted to tell you that my favorite story is the one you wrote about the lost knight." She looked right in his eyes when she said it and she saw them widen slightly with the translation. "You know, the white knight on his quest."
"Yes," he said slowly. "I know the story you mean." Solo straightened his tie and offered her a seat.
Kat glanced at the security man. "Nyet, but thank you, I cannot stay. I just wanted to say how I like your writing and it has helped me with my English." She inhaled nervously. "I especially like the part where the knight gets hurt but still has the determination to finish his quest." When she held Solo's eyes, she saw one corner of his mouth lift into a smile when April finished speaking.
"Yes, he is a very determined character," Solo replied slowly. "And stubborn. Did you notice that?"
Her eyes sparkled when April translated with a chuckle. They understood! "Yes. Very . . . stubborn." She said in English. She turned to look directly at Dr. Timmons and continued in Russian. "Our knight could have used a doctor in the story, but time and place would make that difficult, I would say."
The doctor's eyes stayed with hers and remained calm. "Yes. But that would change the story, wouldn't it?"
Kat smiled. "Yes. It would have saved our hero a lot of pain, and possibly saved his life in the end, I would say." Dr. Timmons nodded in full understanding and continued to smile, but Kat noted how his fingers began to nervously tangle with his napkin.
Kat returned her attention to the senior agent and put her hand on top of Solo's. "My only regret is that the book is at my home. I would love to have you sign it. Will you be in town very long? I can go get it."
Solo digested that information for a moment and said slowly, "It depends on my business here. How far away is your home?" His eyebrows arched pleasantly. Kat realized he was asking where his partner was.
She changed to English so the guard would not understand. She hoped he didn't understand, anyway, so she still spoke carefully. "Up the main road. A river goes under a bridge before our house. This weather makes it sometimes not . . .um. . ." She rolled her wrist, indicating her search for a word. Solo turned to April.
"Not passable?" April said in Russian.
"Yes, thank you. Not passable." Kat leaned in closer to April in the pretense of warmly shaking her hand, and quickly whispered in Russian. "There's a cave in the wall of the ravine about one kilometer north from the road. Look for this," she tossed her bright scarf over her shoulder and straightened up, smiling nervously. "I could go get the book, or if you have time, perhaps you could come by for lunch or supper. My mother would love to meet you."
"That is impossible, I'm sorry." Solo glanced at his watch. "We will be leaving soon." He extended his hand. "It was so very nice to meet you, Miss Tarasov. Your English is remarkable. I'm glad my books help you with my language." Solo pulled a pen from his pocket, leaned over a cocktail napkin and scribbled a short note along with his signature. "Here you go. Press that in your book, and maybe we will meet again." He shook her hand warmly and pressed the napkin in her palm. She stuffed it in her coat pocket without looking at it.
"Yes. Thank you. Nice to meet you all." She smiled and made her way out the bar with the feeling that a huge weight had just been lifted from her shoulders- Illya was going to get some help.
The security man was still right on her heels. "I think I'll be going home now," she said to him with a smug smile.