12. The Gale Force Says Uncle Affair
Part 1.
Napoleon Solo took a final look around the hotel room to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. He knew he hadn't - he hadn't unpacked very much and he'd meticulously returned everything to his suitcase. Nevertheless... better safe than sorry.
He had not put on his "rug" yet, and wore the fat suit and carried the cane, as he still had to get out of the hotel and the personnel might have seen him in that incarnation, and he did not want to draw any more attention to himself.
Satisfied that he was leaving nothing behind, Solo picked up his suitcase and left the room He stopped in the lobby at the desk. Indeed, it was the same clerk who had checked him in the previous day.
"Hi, I'd like to check out please."
"You were scheduled for a week, sir," said the clerk, as she drew up his record in her computer. "I hope you weren't dissatisfied with our hotel."
"Not at all. My business just finished sooner than I expected, that's all."
She printed out his bill, and handed it to him. He took the appropriate amount out of his wallet and handed it over, thanked her, and turned to head toward the door.
"Can I help you with your bag?" said a voice.
He turned to see a young man standing right beside him, and next to him, Agent Gibbs, from the afternoon before.
"No thank you, young man," Napoleon told him. He transferred his gaze to Gibbs. "Agent Gibbs."
"Are you going somewhere?" that man said, in a slightly ironic tone of voice.
"I'm going home." He put a rueful smile on his face. "I must admit I feel rather foolish...coming here like this. I sat in my hotel room last night, trying to map out a plan of campaign, and I realized....I had no clue how to proceed. So, I'm going home, and I will let you professionals find Dr. Mallard."
"I'd like to have a little chat before you go. Please."
Napoleon put a look of slight concern on his face. He shrugged. "Young man, if you'll carry my suitcase."
Napoleon settled himself comfortably in a chair, stretching his "gimpy" leg out before him.
"You keep calling him, "Dr. Mallard." began Gibbs.
Napoleon raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
"What is your friend's name?" said Gibbs.
Exasperated face. "Dr. Donald Mallard."
"No nickname?"
Napoleon raised his hands in a gesture of bewilderment. "He may or may not have had a nickname. I don't care for nicknames...I always called him Donald."
"And now you're just going to abandon him?"
Napoleon frowned. "I'm sensing hostility from you, Agent Gibbs. Why? I would have thought you'd be happy to see amateurs getting out of you way. I'm leaving, I'm letting you get on with your job."
"And I appreciate that, Mr. Sykes."
Napoleon glanced from Gibbs to the un-introduced young man. "So...I'm free to go?"
At the other man's shrug, Napoleon got to his feet. The young man handed him his suitcase with a tilt of his head and a supercilious smile. Napoleon took it, had reached the door, put his suitcase down to open the door, when Gibbs said, "What if it were Ilya Kuryakin?"
Napoleon turned around slowly, putting a puzzled look on his face. "I beg your pardon?"
"If the missing man were Ilya Kuryakin, would you be leaving then?"
Something odd here... "Is he Ilya Kuryakin?" Napoleon asked soberly.
"No," Gibbs snapped, slamming his hand on the table. "He's my friend, Donald Mallard. But somebody wants Ilya Kuryakin in exchange for him. You want to explain to me why that is, Mr. Sykes?"
Continue to pretend ignorance? Napoleon debated. But Gibbs had taken out a sheet of paper, encased in a plastic bag, and placed it on the table.
Napoleon limped back over to the table to take a look at it.
We have your man. We will trade him for Ilya Kuryakin.
You have 72 hours to locate him, starting from 0600 tomorrow.
Failure means your man's death.
Any more publicity means your man's death.
You will be contacted.
Napoleon sighed, and sat down.
"Over 30 years ago, there was a certain international law enforcement organization, to which both Ilya Kuryakin and I belonged. Our main adversary was an international criminal organization called Thrush."
"Thrush?" laughed the younger agent. Then, "Is that like SPECTRE?" in a Sean Connery accent. Then, the smile was wiped away instantly and a "Sorry, Boss," was quickly said.
"After several years," Napoleon continued calmly, "we managed to destroy Thrush, and as a result of our success, we were disbanded as well. A change in presidents, ruling political party and foreign policy might have had something to do with it, too.
Ilya and I both retired, and we grew apart. I have not seen him for over 20 years."
"And yet you came here when you thought he'd been kidnapped."
"As I said, he's a friend of mine. Semper fi."
"And now you're prepared to leave."
Napoleon extended his hands. "I can't help you, Agent Gibbs. If I knew where Ilya was, or how to contact him, I wouldn't have had to come here in the first place, would I?"
"You could find out where he is. And I bet you could do it in less than 72 hours."
Napoleon dropped his eyes from Gibbs' laser-like glare, and let his shoulders slump in a defeated fashion. Fussily, he cleaned his glasses with his tie as he gave thought to his best course of action.
Finally, he looked up at Gibbs, who was still glaring, and shrugged meekly. "Very well, Agent Gibbs. I will try to think of how to locate Ilya."
Gibbs leaned forward and the glare became practically incandescent. "You'll do more than just try, Mr. Sykes."
NOTE:
For the second time, I have uploaded multiple chapters in one day, so make sure you read chapters 10 and 11 before moving on to this one, Chapter 12. A few of you may have missed Chapter 8 as well, which was also the first part of a two-story upload day.
I'll be taking a hiatus on this story for a while.