It began slowly at first, quietly… as a roaring river begins with a mere trickle of water finding its way downhill to join with other meandering streams building into a crescendo of crashing waves. The whispers started in the communications department. It wasn't long before they made their way along the gunmetal gray corridors, gathering momentum as agents stood around the water coolers of each department, then rode the current of a mix of dread and disbelief before gathering in the canteen. Agents stood in small groups or sat at tables pressing one another for information.
"Have you heard?"
"Is it true? It can't be!"
"How could it have happened?
"I don't believe it!"
The murmurs of disbelief wound their way around the large room as a flood would carry currents and eddies among structures caught in their path.
April Dancer and Mark Slate, returning from a trip South America, stopped by for a quick bite to eat before reporting to their boss, Alexander Waverly, for a debriefing. They walked into the canteen surprised at the loud level of conversations and noted the tension in their fellow agents' faces.
They approached the first table where Agents Croft and Clark sat. "What's going on, Luv?" April asked.
Agent Croft looked up. "We've…we've…ah… just heard some disturbing news," Crofts voice faltered.
Agent Clark picked up where Croft left off. "We have just heard…Illya Kuryakin is dead!"
April's face lost all color. Mark wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.
"But that's not the worst of it," Clark continued. "The word is that Napoleon Solo was the one who killed him."