He heard a smothered curse. What was happening – or not – didn't please Weber. So there was a traitor, one of those men was a traitor. Napoleon Solo didn't like the idea, of course, but at least it made the situation clear.
Lowry felt still uncomfortable. He had pulled rank on the Russian, forced his idea on him. Moore distrusted Kuryakin. Lowry disliked his constantly calm attitude, but as far as Alexander Waverly himself had chosen this guy, as far as he trusted him... The older agent bit his lips. The blond was rummaging in a web of wires, ignoring them. Moore... Lowry sighed, peering around. Moore was standing next to the window, concentrated on the outside, in wait. The others were almost done with the rough-and-ready shelter. What the hell with Kuryakin's comment about Moore? He narrowed his eyes. Moore's right foot was imperceptibly rubbing the ground. His fingers were playing with his lapel. He looked like to be impatient. Of course, he was. They were, all of them. Impatient, eager to act, to fight, to defeat the villain. Moore – Damned Russian! - Moore was tense, nervous, rather than impatient. He wasn't in wait behind the window, he wasn't watching ourside. His eyes were focused on the upright of the window frame.
"I am ready."
Moore startled slightly and turned to the Russian immediately, his face betraying for one second a strange mix of relief and triumph. Lowry didn't miss it, a flood of unpleasant, stupid thoughts swallowing him up.
"One minute!" Raising a hand, he had come out with those words almost instinctively. Forcing himself to calm down, he added. "Watch outside, Moore!" He winked at the young agent. "Mr Kuryakin? I'd rather you showed me what you planned, quickly."
Moore frowned but obeyed. At least, he was pretending to.
Bob Milton motioned the others to put the finishing touches to the shelter, keeping an eye on the two men. Lowry crouched down next to the Russian, whispering.
"What did you mean, about Moore?"
Illya Kuryakin smiled, pointing theatrically at the trapdoor. The older agent was puzzled.
"What?"
The Russian was rummaging again in the wires, and Lowry had to read the words on his lips.
-Tell him you changed your mind. Tell him that you'll go out with Mr Milton"
He gulped, but the Russian added softly "Now".
"Trojan Horse, you said? What about your Trojan horse, Mr Weber? Still in the Augean Stables?"
He added on purpose an ironical chukle.
"Witty, very witty. So Uncle agents are cultured, in the US? And they have a great sense of humor?" Weber paused and went on with a harsher tone. "It won't be any use, Mr Solo! I have all the time in the world."
Napoleon Solo sneered loudly.
"No, you haven't! You're getting nervous, because you don't know what is going on, and..."
"Shut up!"
Wevber banged his fist on the wall, causing it to vibrate with a metallic sound.
"Just what I said, Weber. You're nervous..."
"Moore?"
The young agent turned to him, expectantly.
"Finally, you'll stay here. I'll go out with Milton, and..."
"NO!"
For years, this moment would remain in Lowry's memory. A few seconds, a chaos of images. Images. As Moore was barking "No!", he had got his gun, aiming at his superior, ready to shoot. Then Lowry had ended up on the ground. Moore was staring wide eyed, both with amazement and indignation, still aiming at them, His face turned suddenly blank and slowly, gracefully, he fell down, stabbed through the heart. All the others stood, holding their guns, unsure, staring at him, at the Russian, at the limp body.
Lowry got up, grimacing, rubbing his arm. A strong, powerful hand had grabbed him, throwing him down. Illya Kuryakin walked towards the body, bent over it and retrieved his stiletto. The older agent pointed at the holster.
"Why...?"
"Noise. Now, we have to leave this place as soon as possible. Let's go."
"But..."
Illya Kuryakin had casually opened the trapdoor, ignoring the others' starts. Bob Milton couldn't help exclaiming.
"But you said..."
The Russian smiled, a boyish smile."He looks 16" Milton thought. "A dangerous, efficient agent, and he looks 16...". The blue eyes twinkled with amusement.
"Yes, I fixed it."
"But you said..."
"I lied." He paused, looking at them. "Obviously, Weber needed an accomplice. He couldn't have been able to capture Mr Solo alone. Someone who would be eager to please his master, by offering him another prisoner, a valuable one. I am sorry, Bob..."
Bob Milton chukled.
"And of course, the very last place he would want to be..." Illya Kuryakin made an eloquent gesture towards the shelter. "Now, go down. I promised some fireworks. Mr Weber is waiting for that, and I wouldn't disappoint him."
As Lowry was about to slip down the trapdoor, he stopped.
"Kuryakin?"
"Yes?"
"You saved my life."