Sacrifices for the Greater Good
Grief I
In his mission-assigned flat, Napoleon sorted his way through his clothes, occasionally tossing the odd garment into the open suitcase. He grinned as he came across a red pair of panties and allowed himself a moment to indulge in some very pleasant memories before he added them to the 'throw away' pile. He may have had to curtail on his habits during the past several weeks but he had still managed to have some fun even while pretending to a construction worker rather than his more lavish fake professions. It was a testament to his somewhat snobbish views on clothing that the 'throw away' pile was much larger than the 'keep' pile. The 'keep' pile only contained the garments that he disliked but knew might eventually be useful if he ever had to keep a low profile, unfortunately the Armani he favoured was not exactly low-key.
He continued his work, already making plans for what he would do once he returned. It had been far too long since he had done anything even remotely fun, he would have to look up what was on at that theatres when he got back. His musings were interrupted by the insistent noise of the phone ringing. Dropping a dark coloured shirt into his suitcase he crossed the room and picked up it up, expecting to hear Waverly's voice on the other end telling him about the return plans.
"N-Napoleon?" The distinctly feminine voice betrayed that it wasn't his boss calling but instead was Gaby, her voice trembling with some unknown emotion. The shakiness in the way she spoke caused the habitual smile to slip from his face as he immediately went on the alert, his deeply ingrained training telling him there was something very wrong with this situation.
"Gaby, what is it?" He asked, hearing himself speak slowly and clearly as though from a great distance. His unease was confirmed as he heard the unmistakeable sound of harsh sobs on the other end of the line, the noise causing him to feel an unwelcome chill down his spine. It wasn't Gaby, it couldn't be her. She was never so shaken. It appeared that she was trying to say something but he couldn't distinguish a word. "Gaby I can't understand you, is Illya there?" The big Russian was rarely phased by anything, surely he would be able to explain what had happened. But if anything, the name made her sob harder.
"H-he's unconscious, they drugged him with something." It was an image Napoleon struggled to reconcile with as he felt his own panic increase. To think of Illya so easily subdued was near impossible, not the man who had managed to tear the truck off his car only a few years ago.
"Who drugged him Gaby?" He asked insistently.
"Rose and George, they managed to get out of the arrest- something to do with a mole in the FBI." She managed to choke out the words between sobs. "The mole told them about us, they came to the house." He felt his blood run cold at the later part of her sentence. "They've rigged it to explode." She had to break off as the emotion overcame her, it took a short while for her unsaid implication to sink in and Napoleon nearly recoiled in horror from the phone as he realised what she was saying.
"Can you get out?" Even as he asked, he knew that it couldn't be that easy or Gaby would not have bothered with a call.
"No. They've tied me to a chair, and there's no time to get free." There was a pause over the other end of the line. "Napoleon, this call was my last request."
"No Gaby you can't think that way!" He told her firmly, looking over at his door, torn over whether he should comfort her or do his best to get to them before their time ran out. "How much time do you have left?"
"I-I don't know, they left as soon as they dialled the phone and put it to my ear. I don't think we have long." He swallowed thickly as he realised nothing could be done for Illya. Gaby could not save herself and drag his unconscious body out of the house.
"Listen to me," as he spoke he was dimly aware that he was using the military command voice he had not been forced to use for so long, "you need to try to get out. Use your weight to try to move towards the door. I'll be there as soon as I can." He fumbled to the side to get his car keys, intent on driving there as quickly as possible, but she almost didn't seem to hear him.
"Napoleon… I want you to know how much Illya and I valued your friendship. You were a good friend, and I know he would say the same if he could. Whatever you do, don't blame yourself for what happened. We should have been more careful."
"Don't talk like that! You can tell me all this when I get there." He said desperately, but knew he was not successful when she let out another dismayed sob.
"Goodbye Napoleon." It was a very final farewell, lacking any trace of hope but still tinged with affection.
The phone clicked off, and Napoleon stared at it in his hand in horror before he immediately bolted to the door. His neighbours looked at him oddly as he tore his way through the stairs and threw himself into his car, jamming the keys in the ignition. He nearly screamed as his nerves meant it took him precious time to successfully put the keys in and turn the engine on. He drove like a madman through the streets, not letting himself consider what he might find when he arrived.
He smelt the house before he saw it, the acrid taste of burning hit the back of his throat, making him feel physically sick as he continued to drive, his pace no less hectic. Gaby could have managed to escape, the smell could be from a bonfire or something similar occurring in the neighbourhood. When he rounded the corner he could see the house he had only been at earlier in the day completely engulfed in flames. The emergency services had already arrived and group of firemen were busy trying to douse the fire. He slammed on the brakes as he arrived opposite the house, the tires shrieking in protest as they abruptly brought the car to a stop. The seatbelt he had hastily put on while driving held him back as he felt the force of the stop throw him forward. With numb fingers he fumbled as he unbuckled it, and nearly tripped over in his haste to exit the vehicle, already running towards the source of the heat. Two firemen saw his purposeful sprint, and one of them promptly tackled him to the ground, preventing him from reaching his destination.
"There's nothing you can do." The fireman pinning him to road told him firmly.
"My friends are in there!" Napoleon shouted. "Did a woman manage get out?" He felt his heart drop as the fireman solemnly shook his head, he dropped his own to the ground and let out a harsh sound of grief.
"Good God!" A British voice said behind him. "What the hell happened?" Napoleon raised his voice and could see a stricken expression on the normally calm and collected MI6 agent's face.
"There appears to have been an explosion." The fireman answered professionally. "Did you know the inhabitants?" Waverly nodded.
"A couple lived there, did they manage to get out?" He asked anxiously.
"At this point we do not know, we are trying to deal with the blaze first." The fireman said solemnly, and addressed Napoleon next. "I know it's difficult." He said, his sympathy warm and genuine. "But you need to let us do our jobs, if you run in there you will only make things worse and you might injure or kill yourself." Napoleon gave a defeated nod, and felt the weight leave his back. Waverly offered a helping hand, which he took and used to pull himself back up into a standing position.
"They might have escaped." Waverly told him trying to reassure him, but of its own volition Napoleon's head moved in a gesture of denial.
"Gaby called me." He said hollowly. "The targets rigged the house to explode and incapacitated both of them. Illya was knocked out and she was tied up." Waverly looked at him in stupefied shock.
"But the targets were arrested!" Waverly said insistently. "The FBI assured me they were sending a team."
"She told me there was a mole, I assume the mole must have told them about the arrest warrant." Bit by bit, Napoleon related the rest of the contents of the call to Waverly at the older man's gentle coaxing.
"I need to make a call." Waverly told him, his voice now very calm but icy cold.
Napoleon watched him leave, he could just about see his boss's outline at the window of the house where he commandeered a phone. His lifestyle had given him a good understanding of body language, and he watched as the initial tenseness in Waverly's body slowly transitioned into outright fury. The man gesticulated wildly as he spoke, removing any possible doubt about his current mood. The mood prevailed as Waverly returned to his side, and it took him some time for him to control himself enough to speak.
"I informed the FBI about the mole. They were… already aware of the situation and had in fact expected the targets to escape, they used the opportunity to find the mole in their ranks. They were not expecting them to make a side trip before their escape." He delivered the information with barely concealed anger, Napoleon absorbed the information numbly, understanding the betrayal involved but unable to summon any emotion about it. "They did not inform me about this." Waverly said, shaking his head in disgust. "The police are chasing after the Russells, their car was seen driving away from the scene a little while before the explosion."
That revelation filled Napoleon with a grim satisfaction, at least they would be caught and punished for what they had done. It was the first emotion he had felt with any degree of clarity since he had risen from the road. The two men sat at the curb, watching the firemen work as the flames slowly died down from their efforts. Eventually the fire was completely doused and revealed a blackened husk that had once been a fairly pleasant house, the structure looked unsteady and prepared to collapse at any moment. One brave firefighter ventured in and disappeared from their view for a substantial period of time. He reappeared again, causing the two men to stand up anxiously, each of them wanting to know what they had found inside. The firefighter spoke to his superior, who glanced back at them both with a grim expression, something was handed over and after a short moment the superior made his way over to them.
"You knew the inhabitants?" He confirmed, his use of the past tense already returning the sick feeling to Napoleon's stomach, preventing him from speaking.
"Yes, we are friends of the couple that live there. Did you find anything?" Waverly said.
"We found two bodies." The firefighter told them. "I'm very sorry." Napoleon recoiled from the news, he had still held some hope that maybe at least Gaby had made it out.
"I want to see them." He said immediately. "I need to know it's them." He couldn't and wouldn't accept what happened until he saw it with his own eyes. The man shifted uncomfortably.
"There isn't much left to identify." He told them solemnly. "You wouldn't recognise them now. We did recover some personal effects, we thought you may want to see them in order to confirm the identities of the deceased."
"We would like to see them." Waverly confirmed. The firefighter sat down on the curb, and with some reluctance Napoleon joined him and Waverly. The man laid out the items on the pavement before them: a burnt watch with the glass front cracked, a thin silver chain with a pearl ring as a pendant and two gold rings, one for a much larger finger than the other.
"Do you recognise these pieces?" The man asked, Waverly nodded not succeeding in conjuring words at this occasion. "We will recover the bodies once it is safe to do so." He said more gently, aware that he was dealing with two people suffering from a sudden emotional blow.
"Thank you." Waverly said shortly, resuming his professional demeanour. "You and your workers will need to sign non-disclosure documents and liaise with the FBI over this matter." Napoleon almost admired his ability to put his feelings aside to focus on what was needed now- damage control. The firefighter looked surprised at the turn of conversation, but conveniently an unmarked car arrived at that point bearing professional looking men in suits.
"Ah Waverly." Napoleon recognised the man speaking as the one he had met and shared a drink with that morning. "I do deeply apologise about this, you cannot imagine how much guilt I feel about your agents. We did manage to find the man who betrayed us."
"Yes, thank you." The British man snapped. "Two of my best are dead, but congratulations on catching your mole." Napoleon found his hand moving to rest in a gesture of restraint against his companion's shoulder.
"You're angry." The man said. "I understand that. We will handle the fallout."
The two men argued some more, Napoleon leaving them to it to turn his attention to the objects still lying on the pavement. The gold rings he ignored, but he picked up the watch and necklace, feeling a large stab of grief as he did so. Both bore marks of the fire, and he was sure the tracking device in the ring was now destroyed, not that it had much use anymore with its owner lying lifeless in the shell of a house. The watch was similarly useless, the hands now motionless. He still remembered how devastated the grumpy Russian had been when it was stolen, and how overjoyed when it was returned. Illya had normally been reasonably good at hiding his feelings, but the slight shifts in his face on both occasions had been cemented in his memory and would be forever more along with that final conversation he had with Gaby.
Author's Note: … Sorry… … … …. … Everyone calm? Right, so the idea of not warning you guys is to try to get you into a similar frame of mind as Napoleon for the following chapters. Many of you will probably not want to continue on (understandable), but I hope some of you will keep reading. Thanks for all the reviews for 'Mission' I do really appreciate them! We're now in 'Grief' which is going to be the emotional impact on Napoleon, as well as him dealing with some of the consequences.