Napoleon wasn't happy. "You're kidding me! That's eleven hours from here and if Altschuler is going there from Illinois; that's…
"Approximately 14 hours from his present location," Illya said. He'd walked in without either of them having heard him enter.
"Given it will take us 11 hours to get from here to Bellterre, that gives us a small window of time to arrive ahead of Altshuler.'
"How do you know this?" Angelique demanded.
"Spy, remember?"
The woman was clearly annoyed. "Were you eavesdropping on us while we were in bed, you perverted son of a bitch!"
"Wait, you are the one whose name means 'the dog', and since you are a female, then let the shoe fit. Angelique I say this with the deepest sincerity. Pashol w zhopy!" That was close enough to telling her to go to hell.
"But then I do not expect you to understand Russian, or a great many other languages so perhaps you will understand this better...Va te faire enculer!" He coldly told, 'fuck you' in French.
"Knock it off you two! Angelique I knew he'd bugged me and I let him do it. That's immaterial at this point. We need to head to Belleterre and get ready for a preemptive strike," Napoleon snarled.
They left the hotel; all three of them in a snit now but at least in Napoleon's mind there actually was light visible at the end of the tunnel. At least that's what he hoped. Altshuler had to be stopped. Las Vegas was near disaster, and another bomb couldn't be allowed to detonate.
Willie Altshuler was clearly a madman in Solo's eyes, capable of anything. Millions could die if he succeeded with just part of his plan, and the world would be bathed in a haze of radiation, affecting generations to come.
He drove, keeping his thoughts to himself, with Angelique sitting silently in the passenger seat beside him. Illya remained stiff-lipped in the back with his arms crossed in front of his chest.
Napoleon sighed; it was going to be a long ride.
Halfway there it was time for a pit stop, if just for a bathroom break and to get gasoline.
"What no food?" Angelique whined." She looked longingly at the small family restaurant beside the fuel station.
"If I didn't know better I'd think you were Illya," Napoleon snickered while he gassed up the car.
"Please, that I think is even a worse insult than what your partner made to me at the hotel."
"As I said, if the shoe fits,"Illya appeared as usual out of nowhere. "I come bearing gifts."
He tossed a paper sack to them, and held out a tray with containers of black coffee.
"Tourtiere," he said. Meat pies, if you are not familiar with them Angelique."
Her demeanor softened, "Thank you. I'm familiar with meat pies but not from here."
"They are quite good." Illya said.
"Ate one already tovarisch?" Napoleon chuckled.
"But of course, now we best get going. It will be after dark when we arrive. I also purchased some flashlights for us as well."
Holding his second meat pie wrapped in a paper napkin, Illya munched on it as he got behind the wheel; Solo was now in the front passenger seat while Angelique stretched out in the the back after she'd finished eating and drinking her coffee.
"You were right, that was quite delicious, however it didn't taste like beef. What was it?" She asked.
"I believe it was venison, and nicely spiced."
"Oh really?" She acted nonchalant about it, though she was surprised at how good it was. She was accustomed to filet mignon; more delicate and sophisticated meals and not something a huntsman would eat.
Angelique wondered if there were any gourmet restaurants she frequented who might be willing to offer it on their menus; it could become the newest trend.
Alexander Waverly had been in contact with his agents, giving them updates on Altshuler's location. The former Thrushman was making excellent time and would be at the satrap sooner than the agents anticipated.
Still they finally arrived within a window of time to spare in the small ville of Belleterre in northwestern Quebec.
The village had been founded back in 1930 when a prospector named William Logan discovered gold near Mud Lake. It led to the establishment of the Belleterre Gold Mines Company five years later and the formation of the community at nearby Sables Lake to house the miners and their families.
In 1957 the once incorporated town faded into obscurity as the mine became depleted and closed down. There were less than four hundred residents occupying the housing there where once there were thousands of people.
Perfect for a satrap. It was in a remote location, with few to witness any goings on by T.H.R.U.S.H.
They drove through the sleepy little village, seeing most of the simple cabin style homes dark, with only a few with lights still burning.
Though it wasn't that late, people around here most likely went to bed early and rose early as well. There was no time or necessity to research the way of life here, though Kuryakin would have much preferred knowing the territory into which they had just ventured.
They followed a rough, little traveled dirt road leading out of town to a small hill cleared of trees, atop it was what looked like an old guard shack illuminated by a single spotlight.
Not far off were the dilapidated remnants that must have once been buildings used by the miners. Now they lay collapsed onto themselves; stacks of dry ramshackle rotting lumber being reclaimed by nature as weeds and young trees snaked their way through them and skywards.
In the headlights there were several sets of eyes staring out at them from a line of trees not far behind the shack.
"Deer,"Illya said, and a rabbit. Deer's eyes glow a near orange, while a rabbit's are red, and unless I am mistaken that is an owl up in that tree,"he pointed to it," as you can tell by the size of the large yellow eyes."
"Must you always be such a know it all Kuryakin?" Angelique said.
At this point he was willing to simply shrugging off her comments as he was tiring of them and there was nothing he could to to get her to cease her yammering, short of gagging her and that he knew his partner would not tolerated.
"Napoleon will you please open the trunk for me. I need to change my clothes to something a little more suitable for the terrain."
"You could have done that when we made our last stop," he answered.
"What and have my clothing wrinkle? Oh no! I told you if I am going to die, then I will do so looking good. Surely you can understand this with your penchant for clothing, n'est ce pas?"
Solo shrugged to his partner. 'What can I say?"
Illya's response was to again roll his eyes for the umtheenth time.
"No no peeking Kuryakin," she warned," Though you dear Napoleon can ogle all you want."
"Perish the thought and turn to stone?" Illya quipped. He turned his back to her, leaning against the car while she changed.
"Tovarisch, that Medusa remark really was uncalled for you know. Please for the sake of the mission will you just call a truce. She'll be out of our hair once we get Altshuler and his little packages."
"Our hair? You will be divesting yourself of her company like that?" Illya snapped his fingers.
"I know you don't want to believe it but yes. I'm growing a bit tired of being use…'
''So what do you think?" Angelique suddenly appeared, dressed in a very form fitting pair of khaki pants and matching top. Around her throat was a colorful Hermès silk scarf, the ends of which drifted down just enough to point right to her exposed cleavage. Most importantly she wore a pair of sturdy hiking boots.
"Keep reminding me of that will you?" Illya elbowed his partner.
"Ahem, yes. Why Angelique, even when roughing it you look stunning," Napoleon said.
"Why thank you darling," she smiled and reached into her purse, pulling out a small silver pistol. That, she tucked into the waist of her pants.
"Are we all ready then?" Illya handed them their flashlights.
"No time like the present," Solo gestured for Angelique to lead the way.
"The entrance is that shack up there, nothing complicated at all. Not even a surveillance system as it's so remote."
After moving the car and hiding it among the trees, Illya joined them as they
They stepped into the shack and after they closed the door, Angelique flicked a wall switch.
The walls began to move as they quickly discovered it as an elevator."
"How far down does this go?" Illya asked.
"Approximately 300 feet. This is part of the old mine system, shored up of course with concrete and steel so it's quite safe and secure. THRUSH was quite efficient in constructing this place."
"What's the purpose of this satrap?" Napoleon asked.
"Oh you'll see soon enough darling, and by the way...sorry."
The elevator door opened and there they were met with a dozen armed Thrushmen in their green jumpsuits and black berets aiming their rifles at the two U.N.C.L.E. agents.
Illya and Napoleon didn't even bother looking at Angelique as they raised their hands, clasping them on top of their heads. They'd been captured enough times to know the drill.
Solo could just imagine his partner chiding him with an,
'I told you so.'
"This way," the head goon ordered. They were led to a small room where they were very thoroughly searched.
The agents had not only been disarmed of their weapons, but their lockpicks, wristwatches, their shirt buttons, cufflinks, tie bars, money clips and everything else on their person, obvious and hidden. Apparently the guards here had been well informed about UNCLE paraphernalia.
They were taken to lockdown and were thrown in separate cells opposite each other; escape proof, or so they were told. As soon as the guards left both men went about searching their sparse accommodations for anything that could aid them in escaping.
"I got nothing," Napoleon called out.
"Me either. However there are eyes on. Check in the back upper corners of your cell."
Sure enough, there was a tiny camera lense peeking through a hole in the plaster half the size of a dime.
Both men leaned up against the bars of their cells, reaching out with their hands; their fingers began to move with lightning speed.
Some time ago they'd devised a sort of sign language similar to that used by deaf people, though Napoleon and Illya's version was slightly different. That made it impossible to translate as they were the only ones who knew it.
"Don't tell me. Told you so," Napoleon signed.
"Was think this the dog's plan was from start?'
"Not sure. Seemed genuine. Maybe her orders changed."
"Altshuler real?"
"Not sure," Napoleon answered.
A guard appeared and they agents quickly pulled their hands out of sight.
"All right blondie, you're coming with us."
They opened up the cell, jabbing Kuryakin with a cattle prod. He squelched his reaction the first time but the second jab elicited a yelp from him."
"Keep moving." The jabbed him a third time.
Illya suddenly spun into a roundhouse kick and connected with the rear guard's man went flying. Just as Kuryakin recovered and turned, the second guard hit him with the cattle prod, this time holding it on the agent.
The jolt of electricity was enough to send Illya screaming to the floor, jerking and spasming in response to it.
When the guard he'd hit rose, he gestured for it to be stopped and kicked the Russian in the side for good measure. The two men picked up Kuryakin between them and dragged him off.