Dinner was less than uneventful. Samantha wanted to hear all about the places Napoleon had been, but steered away from asking where Illya's accent originated. Deborah was almost too aesthete for Illya, which took quite a lot. She spent all of her time in museums and art galleries, a reflection of her degree in fine art. Normally that would have been a key to an entertaining evening for the educated Russian, but somehow, this time, it was not keeping him interested.
The restaurant had been uninspiring, the company charming but not essential. By ten o'clock it was apparent that the party was definitely over. Napoleon begged off drinks, telling the girls truthfully that they had a very early start the next day. The agents turned in without much conversation, and both men went to sleep considering the possibilities of the next few days.
It was a tinny warble that woke up Napoleon. He reached for the faux cigarette case and untangled himself from the covers.
"Um.. Solo here…(yawn)"
"Mr. Solo, do you have your plans ready? I should think you are close to being on the road towards your destination."
"Yes. We are almost out the door. The sun is not quite up…"
"You don't need the sun for driving, Mr. Solo. Still, better to be rested and ready for whatever may greet you, I suppose. Please do keep me informed. Waverly out."
Illya raised his head above the coverlet on his bed, blond hair catching the first sliver of the sun's light as it seeped in between the drapery panels.
"I'll take the first shower. You can get the bags ready."
Napoleon shook himself, trying to wake up.
"Yeah, that's fine. Just don't use all of the hot water."
Illya grunted, his usual grace not quite caught up to the man's body at this hour.
Thirty minutes later both men were showered, shaved and sitting in the front seat of the UNCLE car that Albert had been driving the day before. He traded with them and returned the rental to the airport. This Chevy had a few extras that might come in handy, including a homing device that would respond to both of their communicators, as well as an enhanced V-8 engine that could outrun practically anything else on the road. The back seat held a collection of armaments and explosives beneath the seat. Everything they needed to blow up the Thrush compound was in this car. Albert had done a good job.
Napoleon took the keys, willing to drive the first leg of the journey north. They had a long drive ahead of them, full of twisting two lane roads and fewer and fewer places to stop for gas and refreshments. They purchased some sandwiches from the little café that was attached to the motel, and made a mental note to thank someone for an extra gas tank in the car they were driving.
"You might as well get some shut eye while you can, Illya. I imagine it will take a long time to reach our destination."
Illya squinted through the dawn light, reliving that strange feeling of being slightly disconnected when driving through strange places into the unknown.
"And where exactly are we headed? I still can't quite picture where it is that this satrapy is located. Is it in the mountains, or on a hillside? It seems inconceivable to me that no one would have spotted something that is purportedly so large."
Both men were silent for a few minutes. Neither of them had an answer at this point. Everything was a giant question mark as far as this assignment was concerned.
Easing out onto the highway, Napoleon reviewed the directions they had mapped out. This part of the interstate would run out, requiring them to travel older highways that were slated for improvements, but as yet were still a sometimes hazardous ride through undulating topography and increasing elevations. The end of the trip was a little hamlet a few miles off the main road and nestled in the base of the Smoky Mountains. Thrush had more nerve than common sense if they thought an operation like this would go unnoticed within a National Park. Sometimes, that lack of concern for even the governments of large nations made them even more dangerous.
Throughout the day stops were made, seats exchanged and the sandwiches and thermos of coffee consumed. It was getting dark when Illya finally pulled into the small courtyard of an ancient little motel. This one must have been a relic of the earliest days of automobile travel, and the two men wondered what type of accommodations it would offer them.
"Okay, Illya, I'll go check it out. It's hard to believe this place could be anything except vacant, but just in case…"
Illya nodded.
"I will keep an eye out for trouble. If this is Thrush territory, then we have no guarantees that the local population, such as it is, will not be in league with them. We must assume that at least some of the people in this area are now employed at this… whatever it is that has been built here."
Napoleon was searching for signs of life. The little motor court was tidy, the only signs of occupation was a Buick sedan parked next to the office, and another vehicle farther down. Hopefully, Napoleon would be able to secure the end unit.
"Be right back."
He slapped the hood of the car as he headed for the office. Illya let his gaze take in his surroundings. Across the street were several storefronts, including one with a sign that read:
Angieville Café
"Hmmm… I suppose it can't hurt to try the local cuisine."
"Are you talking to yourself again, tovarisch?"
Illya turned at the sound of his partner's jibe. He must be tired to have missed Napoleon's approach.
"Room 10, on the end. Let's go put our stuff away, and then we can walk across the street and try that café. It is what you were thinking, isn't it?"
Both men grinned at that.
"Yes, I am quite hungry. If the food is any good, we will at least have that satisfaction for this day's activity."
Illya pulled the Chevy into the designated spot, and they removed the suitcases and set the car alarm. No one would get away with this vehicle. It was equipped with a new, state of the art UNCLE security alarm that would automatically lock down the car, and disengage the battery connection. It was theft proof.
The agents checked out the room. It was a standard double, typical close quarters. It didn't matter to them, they were used to skimpy accommodations. Right now what they both wanted was a hot meal and a good night's rest, if that were possible. One or the other would be acceptable, both would be exceptional.
They headed for the Angieville Café. It was named, of course, for the town in which it was located: Angieville. A few people came through here on their way farther into the Smoky Mountain National Park, although a new highway would eventually bypass it, most likely. A few patrons were seated at small tables, and a jukebox was playing a Loretta Lynn record. It was Illya who recognized the singer, much to Napoleon's surprise.
"American music has its roots in the cultures of the people who settled this country. In this region, the Irish and Scottish are dominant forebears, so the music reflects the sounds of those cultures. Fiddles and mandolins, guitars… even the tonal qualities of their singing. It is all quite interesting."
Napoleon was impressed. He hadn't considered that his Russian friend would find this region interesting enough to ferret out the history of its music.
A young girl approached their table, her smile a genuine greeting for the two travelers.
"How are y'all doin' this evenin'?"
Napoleon returned her smile as Illya contemplated the menu. Some of these items were unfamiliar, and he wondered if this was the right time to explore Southern cooking.
"Excuse me, miss, but what exactly is Country Fried Steak?"
"Oh my, you surely aren't from around here!"
Illya smiled, just a little.
"No, no I am not from around here. My friend and I, we are writing a book on the Smoky Mountains and the people who live here. My name is Illya, and this is Napoleon."
The girl, whose nametag spelled out Margie, took a deep breath before speaking again. She seemed to be holding back a giggle.
"My goodness, but those are not names we hear much around Angieville."
"No, I don't suppose you would have."
Margie regained her composure and assured Illya that he would love Chicken Fried Steak, with fried potatoes and green beans. She recommended the cole slaw as well, and sweet tea, of course.
Napoleon nodded as she spoke, his own appetite yielding to something else he noticed.
"Tell me, how is the catfish? It says here it's caught fresh daily."
"Oh my yes. Catfish rolled in cornmeal and fried, with potatoes and coleslaw. I guess you can tell we like fried potatoes and cole slaw."
She winked at them, and they both ordered according to her recommendations. They both decided to try the sweet tea, and before he closed his menu Illya spotted something called Chess Pie. He would need to have a piece of that.
Twenty minutes later Margie delivered their food, heaped high on oval plates that must have seen years of service. The aromas were tantalizing, and those first bites convinced the men from New York that if nothing else came of this trip, they would have this meal to remember.
When the last bites were taken, Illya was no longer certain that he could eat a piece of pie. The temptation proved too great, however, and he let the power of the food lull him into a sense of contentment that could only be enhanced by more of it. The chess pie came, along with a cup of coffee. Napoleon decided to skip dessert, still smarting a little over the comments made during the sparring match. He was sticking to his no sweets rule. For now.
The meal completed, Margie was close by to pick up the plates and ply them with platitudes and wishes for a quick return. They left a hefty tip for the girl, and Illya asked about breakfast. He was thinking ahead, after all.
"Oh, cook's here at five in the mornin'. The early shift begins at the mine by six, so there's biscuits and gravy on the stove real early."
Napoleon seized the opportunity to ask about the mine.
"So, there is a working mine close by? We weren't aware of that. Do you know who owns it?"
"It's some fella from up north, I think. He built this big place up in the foothills, and been mining up there for about a year. I think maybe twenty or thirty men work up there now."
Illya and Napoleon exchanged a look that said 'there's our lead', and then thanked Margie for all of her advice and great service.
"We'll be back tomorrow. Thanks again, Margie."
Walking back to their room, Illya and Napoleon settled on a course of action. They would grab their cover story and all of the accoutrement for making it look real, and head to the mining operation that had snuck in beneath everyone's noses.
Illya couldn't wait to try biscuits and gravy.