About thirty minutes after Napoleon's cruel prank on the poor Russian, the brand new director was jolted out of his peaceful reverie when a sharp crack and a BANG!!! split the air, ruining any hope of a peaceful afternoon on base. Throwing the magazine he'd been looking at discreetly into a box with all the other magazines that "weren't his", Napoleon Solo lept to his feet and bolted out of his office to see where and how bad the bomb had been. Turning the corner, Napoleon skidded to a halt as he came upon a very...powdery scene.
The entire corridor and its inhabitants had turned a shocking white, covered all over with a fine mist of what looked to be common all-purpose flour. A young blonde, now a very powdery pale, suddenly began to giggle softly at the site of herself and her fellow agents. Before too long, the rest of the victims had commence to see the funny side in their situation, helping to dust the flour off themselves and their neighbor as everyone, including Napoleon himself, wondered how on Earth a flour bomb had gotten inside the U.N.C.L.E. New York Headquarters.
Shaking his head in confusion, Napoleon turned around and started to head back to his office. Opening the door to his office, the special agent was startled to hear another earsplitting crack and a BANG!!! not three feet in front of him. Napoleon's eyes remained shut tight as a blast of powdery stuff splattered his face and clothing, afraid to look at the mess that the second bomb had created in Waverly's office he knew had to be there.
"Oh no..."
Licking his lips nervously, Napoleon realized something else about the bomb - something even worse than it being in Waverly's office.
"Oh NO!" he cried dismally. The powdery stuff, unlike the bomb in the hallway, had been composed this time of very fine, very sweet powdered sugar - potentially problematic, as powdered sugar tended to melt at the slightest touch of heat or liquid.
Stepping into a Winter Wonder-office, Napoleon looked down as his foot crunched on something metal.
He had just stepped on the shattered fragments of a small coffee tin, obviously from somewhere in the Soviet Union, decorated with Russian characters advertising the former grounds' goodness...and lack of salt.
"ILLYA!!!!"
Napoleon looked out of the office just in time to see a yellow-haired, blue-eyed countenance dart out of sight behind a hall corner.
Murderous rage smoldering in the acting director's hazel eyes, Napoleon Solo sat down in the Director's Chair, plotting his next move to attack.
This was war.
Next - Napoleon Strikes Back!
