The agents had the privilege of pre-boarding since they were now traveling in first class. They sat down in their roomy, cushioned seats that had plenty of legroom, and immediately the private stewardess came around and took their drink and dinner orders.
"Tonight we will be serving filet mignon, lobster tails and asparagus with hollandaise sauce or roasted chicken with Asiago polenta and truffled mushrooms. Both meals are accompanied by fresh salad, fruit, dinner rolls, and for dessert an assortment of petit fours." She spoke in both French followed by was heavily accented English.."Now there is a proper accent," Illya whispered, elbowing his partner in the side.
"Va donc pétaler dans les fleurs," Napoleon whispered back, careful not to let the stewardess hear.
"What?" Illya was stumped."Pick petals...off flowers?"
"Aha! I finally got you!"
The Russian turned red-faced, not liking that a bit. "Your accent is still awful, whatever it was you just said."
"It means 'buzz off' buddy boy," Solo laughed. "I'm tired of your comments about my accent. It's called Québécois, and I learned my French from my French-Canadian grandmother, so just remember that, next time you insult my accent."
"Oh so you are saying you do not speak proper French then?" Illya zinged one back to him.
"Better not take that attitude once we reach Montreal, otherwise you could be drawn and quartered."
"Correct me if I am wrong then, are not French and English the official languages in the province of Quebec?"
"Well yes, but.."
"And the status of this Québécois?"
"Québécois French is the predominant variety of the French language in Canada...period."
"Period?"
"Ouis."
"So if I speak standard French I will not be understood?"
"Of course you will."
"Then case is closed," Illya shrugged, taking the wind out of his partner's bluster.
"Baise-moué l'ail," Napoleon mumbled.
"Fuck my garlic?" Illya whispered. "Seriously, it cannot mean that?"
"Well not exactly" Solo tried to hide his chuckling, not telling his partner he'd just told him 'kiss my arse.' Looks like he got to do a little gloating after all as it wasn't often he was able to get one over on the linguistically savvy Russian.
The banter ended and both U.N.C.L.E. agents finally ordered the steak and tails, to be accompanied by a Cabernet Sauvignon, with fruity and ripe fine tannins to help cut through the heaviness of the butter. Angelique opted for the chicken with a lovely Chardonnay though she passed on the dessert, opting to give hers to Kuryakin when dinner arrived.
"You realize we are now benefitting by the ill-gotten gains of T.H.R.U.S.H." Illya leaned over, whispering to his partner.
"Hey for once, c'est la vie. Think of it as a little payback for all the meals they're ruined on us, among other things.
Illya shrugged; that was a reasonable answer he supposed, for now.
The flight was comfortable and uneventful. Angelique was seated in front of the agents, leaving the two partners to chat by themselves in hushed tones. After the conversation was exhausted Illya went to sleep, as was his usual custom when flying.
Napoleon, sitting on the aisle seat had to bite his tongue; his pastime of flirting shamelessly with the help wouldn't have been a wise move with the likes of Angelique being present.
She knew she didn't have exclusive rights to the American, nor he to her, and there was always the remote possibility she would someday kill him, under orders of course. Napoleon was well aware the woman had a jealous streak in her and knew better than to allow such a dangerous passion to rear itself when it came to him. No, he didn't want to have her try to kill him in a fit of jealous rage. No siree.
He followed Illya's lead, deciding it was wise to catch up on his sleep; traveling with Angelique La Chien had its very nice advantages, but it also had the downside of lost sleep, even though he'd cavalierly told Illya sleep was highly over rated.
The partners woke to an announcement being made over the public address system.
Mesdames et Messieurs, nous arrivons dans quelques minutes à l'aéroport international de Montréal-Dorval. Nous vous demandons de vous préparer pour l'atterrissage. Veuillez redresser le dossier de votre fauteuil et ranger votre tablette. Nous avons été heureux de vous accueillir à bord aujourd'hui et nous espérons vous revoir prochainement sur nos lignes.
She repeated the announcement in English.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we will be arriving at Montréal–Dorval International Airport very shortly. If I could ask you to return your trays and seats to an upright position, and prepare for landing. We'd like to thank you for flying with us today and we hope to see you again in the future."
"PNC, préparez vous pour l'atterrissage"_flight crew prepare for landing." The microphone was turned off with a click.
Cabin pressure began to change as they started their descent. As they approached the runway there was a slight bump and they were finally down. The forward thrust diminished as the pilot applied the brakes until the plane slowed to a stop.
Another announcement was made by the pilot mentioning the weather, which was of no concern to the three agents, it was Spring and would be comfortable, that's all they needed to know.
The plane taxied to a stop at its designated site; the door was opened and the stairs were rolled into place by the ground crew. One by one the passengers disembarked until only Napoleon, Illya and Angelique were the last ones left on board besides the crew.
They deplaned with a simple nod of the head, but Illya could practically hear his partner bemoaning the fact that he was unable to get the telephone numbers of the luscious stewardesses on board.
They said their goodbyes in French.
"Au revoir Monsieur Solo, Monsieur Kuryakin, Mademoiselle La Chien. Thank you for flying with us." She said her thanks in English..
The agents walked slowly down the stairs to the tarmac, carefully surveying their surroundings. The temperature was comfortable though becoming cool as the sun was setting and their was a slight breeze. The night air was refreshingly sweet and different from Las Vegas or Chicago; it seemed more crisp and pure.
Again Illya retrieved their luggage from the carousel while Angelique had a smoke. Napoleon found himself a secluded spot and pulled his communicator.
"Open Channel D-Waverly."
"Yes Mr. Solo. Have you arrived at Montreal?"
"We have sir, any further word on our target?"
"Yes, however I'm afraid to report that our second-guessing may not have been wise. The van has taken a bit of a detour to a small town named Crawfordsville in Indiana, and has stopped there. Please ask Miss La Chien if there's a T.H.R.U.S.H. satrap of any significance at that location, as our intelligence shows nothing there at all."
"I will sir. She's not available at the moment," he looked across the concourse, seeing her standing with Illya by the luggage. They seemed to be having a conversation and looked like they were actually getting along; at least Illya's face seemed calmer; not like he was ready to kill the woman.
"Might it be possible that it's just some sort of rest stop sir?"
"Anything is plausible at this point. They are not far over the border from their original route in Illinois. Get back to me with that information. Out."
Napoleon returned his communicator to the safety of his jacket and headed towards Angelique. Illya had the enamel watch she'd purchased in his hand, and was examining it with his ever present jeweler's loupe.
"I am afraid this is a fake," he said to her.
"No, that's impossible. The Tiffany mark is there as plain as day." She pointed to it with a neatly manicured finger.
"Yes but if you look at the karat mark of the metal the hallmark states 18K RGP...that means rolled gold plate, which is something Tiffany and Company did not deal with, nor did they use paste in their pieces."
"Paste? You mean the diamonds aren't real?I swear Kuryakin if you are lying to me I will…"
"You'll what Angelique?" Napoleon interrupted.
"Nothing darling. She snatched the bauble from Illya's hand, pinning it back on her suit jacket.
So now what is the game plan" We are here, no doubt, well ahead of Altschuler...n'est ce pas?"
Napoleon ignored her question, instead posing the one Waverly wanted answered.
"Is there a satrap anywhere in the vicinity of Crawfordsville Indiana?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Please, yes or no?" He was a little short with her.
"Tsk, no there's nothing in Indiana that we're interested in."
Napoleon took her at her word. "Thank you. I'll be back in a few minutes. Please you two, play nice?
"A promise is a promise," she said.
"Yes, that is true," the Russian agreed.
.
Willie Altschuler had taken turns driving with Fritz and his brother Adolf on their cross country trip. Periodically he would go in the back of the van, working on assembling his bombs, but not completely. His was a unique design, using C-4 at the catalyst that would help detonate these nuclear bombs. No conventional timers would be necessary, just a simple remote that would start the triggering process when the proper code was entered.
The bomb he'd used in Las Vegas with the traditional timer had been a mistake as obviously that bloody U.N.C.L.E. agent Solo must have disarmed it, thwarting his plans.
His was a time table to be followed but now to his disappointment, Altschuler would have to forego detonating a bomb in the United States for now, still, setting one off in Canada, T.H.R.U.S.H. would get the message and take him seriously as he'd chosen a very special and secret location.
Then of course the other bombs would put the world on notice. Those were going to be difficult to set as every security agency would be on the lookout for him.
Best he be out of Canada and on his way to England when the next bomb would be scheduled to go off. There in London, he'd set the next device and no one would be the wiser until it was too late.
He'd have to use a disguise after that, and a private plane instead of anything commercial. Next would be au revoir to gay Par-ee, then arrivederci Roma!
The most difficult bomb to plant would be in Moscow. His plan was to blow Red Square and the Kremlin to smithereens. And lastly he'd return to the United States, and the United Nations in New York City.
He would be the head of the council by the time all was said and done, even if he had to destroy half of T.H.R.U.S.H. and the world to do it. By doing so a dual purpose would be served as the rest of the world would fall to its knees after such international destruction. He would succeed where T.H.R.U.S.H. had failed.
"The Council? Why would I need them? To hell with the T.H.R.U.S.H. Council. I will rule the world by myself. Maybe I'll let the former Council members beg me to be my underlings?"
Altshuler broke out into a fit of laughter. It would all be his for the taking when everything was said and done. He needed no one really...well except a few goons to do his dirty work.
"Hey boss," Fritz hesitated as he listened to Altshuler's exposition. The man really was a bit crazy, but a lot of powerful people were a bit nuts, weren't they?" I think we gotta problem here."
"I don't want to hear that."
"Sorry, but the engine light is going on. I think we're low on oil."
"Low on oil...are you serious? Didn't I tell you to have the engine checked before we left?"
"Yeah boss, but when you left the casino in a rush I didn't get a chance to do it."
He reached across, slapping Fritz on the arm as he vented his temper tantrum.
"Owww, come on boss. I can get it taken care of. We just need to find a service place. There's a map in the glove box, maybe we can find a town with a garage…"
Willie slammed the glove box with his fist, making it pop open. He snatched the map and unfolded it and after studying it for several minutes using a flashlight he spied a likely place.
"We'll head to a town called Crawfordsville in Indiana, it's not that far out of our way. Next time I tell you to do something Fritz, I expect you to obey me. If you want to remain a part of my regime then you better mind your p's and q's, am I understood?"
"Yes sir boss."
"You better or I'll have you replaced and your exit from my presence will not be a pleasant experience."
"No boss. Don't worry Mr. Altschuler, I won't let you down.
A short while later they pulled into 'Bud's Service Center' on the outskirts of town. Though it was late, the lights were on and the mechanic was apparently still working.
Altschuler and his man exited the van, approaching the interior of the garage.
"Pardon me?" He called to a man laying on a dolly beneath a Packard Clipper.
"Just a sec, I'll be right out," he called.
The dolly skooted out, and the fellow sat up, but didn't stand. A pimply-faced young man with his hair slicked back with way too much Brylcreem held a rag in his hands, wiping the grime from them. His blue coveralls were stained and dirty, signs of a hard worker no doubt.
"What can I do for ya?"
"The umm, engine light has come on in my van and I need it checked immediately. I suspect there might be problems with the oil as my...associate forgot to check it before we left Las Vegas. We've been driving straight through and need to get to Canada...we're on a bit of a time table.
"Gosh you've come from Las Vegas, now there's a place I'd love to see but momma says it's a place filled with nothing but vice and sin, but to tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind experiencing a bit of that just once in my life."
"Yes yes vice and sin isn't it all a bit wonderful. Now that's all well and good, but can you take a look at my vehicle now please, it's rather important that we get back on the road."
"I dunno Mister, I have to finish work on Mr. Letterman's car as I sorta promised it'd be ready for him first thing in the morning."
"Well whatever your rate is, I'll double it. Does that help you make up your mind?"
"Umm yes sir it does," the kid smiled, figuring he was going to make a good buck on this one. Mr. Letterman would understand.
The van was pulled into the garage and the mechanic went at it, while Altschuler and Fritz waited nearby. They'd been offered a seat in the waiting room and some hot coffee but they turned their noses up at it, looking at the dirt and grease everywhere.
Several hours later the van was finished, and it was backed out of the garage.
"Okay, just give me a minute to write up your bill," the young man smiled, stifling a yawn.
"You need some rest from the looks of it." Altshuler commented.
"Aw Mister, I figure I'll rest when I'm dead. Here's your bill, and I tacked on a little extra for the rush job but I didn't double my rate, that just wouldn't be right."
Altshuler barely glanced at the paper, instead he crumpled it into a ball and let it drop without a care on the floor.
"Pay him Fritz," he said, turning away and walking out the door.
There was a single gunshot that pierced the air; Fritz appeared seconds later with a smile on his face.
"Let's get going, we have a lot of time to make up, no thanks to you," Altshuler calmly said.
"Yes sir, sorry boss. Won't happen again."
"It better not."
Napoleon disappeared again in the airport, and once at a safe distance from prying eyes and ears, he opened his communicator, contacting headquarters again.
"Yes Mr. Solo and what did Miss La Chien have to say?"
"T.H.R.U.S.H. has no vested interests in Indiana."
"Hmm, that is most perplexing. It seems the vehicle has been there well over two hours."
"Let's hope it's just a rest stop sir and they haven't switch their mode of transportation."
"Yes, quite. In the meantime, get yourselves to the satrap there in Montreal. I'm sure the three of you can come up with some sort of viable plan to trap Mr. Altshuyler should he indeed arrive there."
"And if he doesn't sir?"
"Then we will cross that proverbial bridge when we come to it. Out."
Alexander Waverly put down his microphone, then hesitated, instead flipping another switch on his console.
"Yes sir? Answered the voice of a young man, still strong with enthusiasm.
"Inform me as soon as that vehicle in Indiana is on the move again."
"Yes Mr. Waverly sir."
* thanks to garonne for her translations