The silver Corvette pulled up in front of the Remington, with Napoleon stepping out of the battered car and handing the keys to the valet, not saying a word at first.
The freckle-faced young man stood there, staring at the condition of the car, not sure if he should say anything, and anticipating a comment Napoleon nonchalantly told him to see to it the car was washed and waxed. He passed the valet large tip.
"Yes, sir. Thank you sir. I'll see it's taken care of."
And just to be facetious, Napoleon added,"Oh yes and have it vacuumed as well."
The two men and the platinum blond walked into the building, getting plenty of stares from the doorman and other hotel personnel.
Both men were obviously the walking wounded…their tuxes were filthy and ruined, Angelique's dress was torn and bloodied.
"Hey, gambling at the Sands can get a little rough," Napoleon quipped to the hotel staff, leaving them standing with their mouths hanging open in amazement.
The trio made their way up to their rooms; Solo opting to head to the room he shared with his partner rather than joining Angelique.
"We'll meet to discuss our next move after we clean up," he said to her, giving her a little peck on the cheek. Though not willing to admit it, she was sore from being thrown down from the bomb blast. The Russian breaking her fall was fortuitous, most likely preventing her from being injured.
Illya lowered himself into his bed with a sigh, holding off on taking a hot shower just yet. They needed to contact headquarters, and after that was done he'd see to bathing, wrapping his ribs and changing. Perhaps he could get a proper sling from the hotel doctor, allowing him to baby his shoulder for the time being.
"Napoleon?"
He was sitting on the edge of the mattress, looking rather tired, and picking at his ruined tuxedo jacket.
"Well at least this was from wardrobe so I won't have to submit it on an expense report; for once it'll be a writeoff."
Illya tried slowly sitting up. "We have to report our blunders to Mr. Waverly and all you are concerned about is a ruined bit of clothing?"
Solo flashed him an annoyed look. "No I'm not...I'm thinking logistics. The money in the back of the van were at least a clue to where Altschuler is headed. A location here in the US, so presumably the nuke he tried using here was the first, Canada, England, France, Italy, Germany and Japan have all got to be his planned stops. The only question is where in those countries?"
"I do not like the fact that we are dependent upon Angelique for the locations of the most likely satraps. Why could she just not have supplied the information instead of gracing us with her insufferable presence? What if she decides to turn on us and takes Altschuler's side? If he succeeds, he could, in theory, take over the world; what better enticement for a deceptive creature like her; she could align herself with him as a matter of self preservation and most likely kill us in the process."
"Are you done?" Napoleon raised an eyebrow at his partner's rant."Always the fatalist aren't you my Soviet friend?."
Napoleon stood, taking off what was left of his jacket and withdrawing his communicator from his pocket.
"And you my friend are too trusting of that woman. She could just as easily kill you in bed, like the bloodthirsty creature that she is."
"Ah but therein lies the thrill partner mine. I know what she's capable of, and she of me. I could just as easily kill her too you know."
"You? Why do I doubt that my friend. You have the heart of the eternal optimist and would not harm a woman unless it was in self defense."
Illya shook his head, realizing Napoleon was now ignoring him.
"Open Channel D-Waverly."
"Yes Mr. Solo, what have you to report."
"I'm sorry to say that we've lost Altschuler sir. We located him at a private gaming room where he was gambling to possibly fund his plans, and there apparently he recognized me. To make a long story short Mr. Kuryakin was able to disarm one of the nukes here in the hotel. Miss La Chien took us to a nearby satrap that was used to launder money for THRUSH there we again caught up with Altschuler."
"And you let him get away a second time?" Waverly interrupted with terseness in his voice.
"It's not like we let him sir. He had a van load of currency from seven different countries,giving us clues as to where he intends to plant his other nuclear devices. I was able to get a tracking device in the vehicle, but Altschuler planted a bomb in the warehouse and it exploded before we were able to pursue…
"A third time Mr. Solo?" Alexander Waverly harrumphed his displeasure. "How is that possible?"
"We were knocked unconscious by the blast and both Mr. Kuryakin and I were...ummm, slightly injured."
"And Miss La Chien?"
"Is unharmed."
"Do I need to send a replacement team Mr. Solo?"
"No sir, that won't be necessary. We're going to work with the clues that we have, and with Miss La Chien's help we just might be able to catch up with him sir."
There was a moment of silence. "A tracking device you say?"
"Yes sir, but I'm afraid it's out of our range now."
"Perhaps not Mr. Solo. There is a secret U.S. military installation there in Nevada and perhaps they may be able to pick up the signal and home in on the direction Mr. Altschuler is taking. I will contact our Americans friends to make arrangements, and will contact you when and if they get a hit. Out."
Napoleon put his communicator on the nightstand beside his bed, wishing for a moment that he could curl up and go to sleep, but he knew that wasn't possible. "A secret military base?" He asked himself, wondering what it was for, and how Waverly knew about it; then again that sly old fox knew a lot of secrets.
Illya remained wordless but finally eased himself from the bed, heading into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, setting the water to steaming hot and slowly stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor.
He stepped under the water, letting it run down his back; the heat felt wonderful on his shoulder. He hissed, trying not to jerk when the water pressure hit his tender ribs. Though he suspected they were broken, he hoped they weren't, but there was no way to know for sure.
Stepping out of the shower; he wrapped a bath towel around his waist and stared into the mirror, examining the lovely bruising growing on his side and shoulder. He tried lifting his left arm, but that was a mistake as he stifled a yelp as best he could.
"Illya? You okay in there?" Napoleon called.
"Fine, I am fine. I will be out in a minute then the shower is all yours I even left you hot water," he tried joking.
As soon as the Russian stepped from the bathroom, Napoleon knew the man wasn't all right. The bruising and swelling on Illya's body made for a stark contrast against his paler than usual skin.
"Hey maybe we should get the house doctor to look you over."
"No, there is not enough time. Now stop being a mother hen...I will be fine. Take your shower and get changed. We need to get ready to move."
Solo disappeared into the bathroom without further discussion, not seeing his partner pick up the telephone receiver.
"Yes this is Mr. Kellerman in Room 560. I need to get hold of a sling and several ace bandages, would it be possible to have them sent up to my room?"
"Not a problem sir. Were you injured on premises, as we would have to have the doctor look at you and fill out an accident report."
"No not at all, it is just an old injury from a car accident that is acting up. I normally carry these items with me just in suitcase but forgot them for this trip."
"Very well sir. We'll send someone up with them right away. Could you use some liniment as well?"
"Yes, thank you that would do nicely. Good bye."
"Bye Mr. Kellerman."
Ten minutes later the items arrived. Illya answered the door after ensuring it was safe, dressed in a hotel bathrobe and quickly handed the bellhop a tip, thanking him but almost closing the door in his face.
Illya immediately went about applying the liniment to his injuries, it smelling of oil of wintergreen. There would be no hiding with him stinking of this stuff. He carefully wrapped his ribs in the ace bandages and somehow managed to get his black turtleneck over his head with a groan. He finished dressing in this black suit, and was thankful he'd brought a pair of black loafers with him as he didn't have to bend to tie any shoelaces.
Napoleon emerged from the bathroom, instantly sticking his nose in the air and sniffing. "What the hell is that smell?"
"Liniment for my shoulder. The hotel sent it up along with a sling." He said nothing about the bandages for his ribs, opting to let his partner think they were okay.
"Well no undercover work for you chum, "Solo chuckled.
"No kidding."
Napoleon dressed in his grey suit and just as he finished tying his shoelaces there was a knock at the door.
Illya stepped to the side, drawing his gun.
"Who is it?"
"Let me in you annoying man," Angelique called.
He opened the door, looking her up and down as she stood there, dressed in a Chanel suit, pastel in color, and looking very Jackie Kennedy. The only divergence from that style was a black silk scarf tied around her throat and somehow, her hair was perfectly coiffed in spite of their ordeal in the desert.
She eased her way past the Russian without a second thought.
"Napoleon darling, I'm famished. Don't we have time for room service...some oysters would be nice now wouldn't they?" She purred.
"Sorry Angelique we don't have time for any of that nonsense. We have a bad guy to catch," he straightened his tie, then zipped his suitcase closed.
"Nonsense? How dare you. I've half a mind not to help you anymore Napoleon Solo."
The American realized his faux pas, and recovered instantly.
"Not you, you could never be nonsense...I was talking about room service that's all," he leaned forwards, attempting to give her another peck on the cheek but Angelique quickly turned her head, letting him her kiss her on the lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him there until it became an embrace, one that Napoleon let himself fall into with ease.
"Enough!" Illya barked, sliding his good hand in between the two of them, breaking it up."
"I will say it then, since my partner has back pedaled so easily. We do not have time for this nonsense. Now Angelique what is your best guess as to where Altschuler might be headed?"
"Hmmm I've given it some thought, and the most likely satrap would be the one in Quebec, Montreal to be precise. It is the location of one of our most lucrative laboratories in the West."
The bellhop arrived to pick up their bags, and the agents followed them downstairs, checking out at the main desk; somehow Napoleon and Illya's room ended up being comped due to the attack outside the private gambling room.
"Accounting will be happy about that,"Illya mumbled but took it back as he listened as Napoleon paid for Angelique's suite. He said nothing, and simply gave his usual eye-roll.
The valet brought their rental car; Angelique had none as a THRUSH driver had delivered her to the Remington.
At Illya's request, Napoleon got behind the wheel of their sedan, with Angelique sitting in the front beside him, while the Russian stretched out in the back seat, babying his shoulder, and his side.
"Napoleon. Please no wrong turns this time?" Illya called out to him.
"Aw come on, we're only going to the airport?" Solo protested.
"My friend, I have seen you get lost going around a corner."
"Now that is a bold-faced lie!"
"Might I remind you of Marseille?"
"I take it back."
Angelique tried not to snicker. "You two sound ridiculous, like two school children in an endless argument."
"V chuzhom glazu sorinku zametno, v svoyom. A pot calling kettle black," Illya quipped in Russian.
"Nyet rozy bez shipov. And there is no rose without a thorn," she shot back at him. "Tak ne khochetsya, a pridetsya. Nravitsya ili net, a pridetsya."
"If I do not like it I may lump it?" He repeated in English, somewhat surprised at her accent.
Still, that shut him up, but not because of what she said, but because she said it in impeccable Russian. Finally, something Angelique La Chen had done impressed Illya Kuryakin.