The Iron Gate Affair, part 1 of 1
By Vicki "Taz" Titus vhtitus98@yahoo.com
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Napoleon eyed the rambling house in Glen Cove with suspicion. If the massive iron fence surrounding the building was any indication, the protection of the occupants must be paramount. Intense security measures were not unusual for wealthy Long Island families, but they could also be a cover for a THRUSH enclave.
Not that it mattered. This house was the last location the beacon in Illya's communicator had logged. Normally, the lack of signal would not be a concern. He was on vacation, after all. However, in light of the current crisis, he had to be recalled.
When no response had been forthcoming after over an hour of signals early this morning, he had been assigned to find his missing partner. Checking the beacon logs, Napoleon found that the signal had stopped while he was at this address in the early morning hours.
Realizing that there might be unseen security camera's watching the area, Napoleon knew he must approach the house soon. If not, he might arouse the suspicions of the people inside. If they were a simply, suburban family, the presence of a stranger lurking outside their fence might alarm them into calling the police. That was a complication he did not need right now.
Solo stepped out of his car and approached the house. The heavy gate opened easily and the agent couldn't tell whether to be pleased or alarmed. It was entirely possible that the unlocked gate was a ruse to lure him into a false sense of security.
His senses on full alert, he knocked on the door. Immediately, the door was answered by a large, powerfully built man, with at least a 4 inch and 50 pound advantage on him. The man looked down at him silently, sizing him up. When he finally said, "Hello," it was with a thick Russian accent.
"I'm here to see Illya," the agent responded, smiling at the larger man.
"Come," the Russian ordered, indicating a spot in the foyer to Napoleon. The agent went where he was directed to stand.
Just as the door shut, a beautiful blond entered the hallway at the end of the foyer. Speaking quickly in thickly accented Russian, the other man addressed the girl. With only a smattering of knowledge of the language to guide him, Napoleon could only pick out a few words, such as Illya's name and the word 'home'. So this is Illya's family, the agent thought. Interesting.
The blond set down the cup of coffee she was holding on an end table next to Napoleon. "How do you do," she said without any hint of an accent. "Pavel tells me you are looking for Illya." A slight hint of suspicion could be heard in her voice.
Pavel had been leaving the foyer before the blond spoke. Hearing the clipped tone in her voice, he turned around to face the agent with a cautious look on his face.
Napoleon flashed his most charming grin at the girl. "If you tell Illya that I'm here, he'll be glad to see me. My name is Napoleon and we work together."
The young woman's suspicion disappeared slightly, replaced by a look of regret. Picking up the coffee cup, she responded, "I'll tell him you're here," and quickly left the room.
Pavel watched the woman enter the main section of the house. Turning back to the agent, he frowned at him. "He doesn't get home often," he snarled in his accent heavy English.
Not knowing what Illya had told them about his job, Napoleon chose his words carefully. "I'm sorry, but something has come up at work and we really need his help."
Pavel nodded, but continued to glower at him. Napoleon felt the man was vaguely familiar, but could not place the connection. No longer wishing to watch the other man stare angrily at him, he looked around the house, what he could see of it. It seemed to be an eclectic mix of styles, some Asian, some European. He could even see bits of African and Old West culture thrown into the mix. It was not that the pieces didn't fit; the house was exquisitely decorated. It was more of the fact that he could not discern any facts about the family from the unique, almost United Nations motif.
The agent was still trying to get a feel for the family dynamic when Illya entered the foyer. He was wearing one of his trademark turtlenecks and a pair of dark pants.
Standing next to Napoleon, he whispered, "Why didn't you page me on the communicator?"
"We tried. YOURS doesn't seem to be working," the taller man explained.
Illya grumbled "Experiments!" under his breath. "I am supposed to be on vacation," he reminded his partner.
"You can tell me about it in the car." Napoleon responded, indicating he needed Illya to leave with him.
Illya nodded. "I'll get my things."
Within a few minutes, Illya had returned to the foyer, a sports coat covering his shoulder holster. The blond walked a few steps behind him. Turning toward her, he said a few words in Russian and then kissed her on the cheek. Without another word, Illya left the house and walked toward Napoleons car.
Napoleon smiled at the blond, called a quick goodbye and then hurried out to join his partner as he stook holding the outside door.
The pair walked in silence down the sidewalk to Solo's waiting automobile. After they settled in the car, Napoleon smiled at Illya. "Are you going to tell me her name?"
"Samantha," was his clipped answer.
"Do you think I should send your sister 1 dozen roses or two?" Napoleon asked as pulled away from the curb.
"Neither!" shot back Illya.
"You don't think she'd go out with me?" he chided.
"No!" was the Russians quick response, following by a string of Russian sentences that Napoleon had trouble hearing, much less translating. However, he was able to hear 'never' and 'wife' among the rush of words.
Smiling, Napoleon decided to scratch Illya's sister off his list of possible conquests.
Illya smiled too, not bothering to correct the man's erroneous assumption that Samantha was his sister.
© 2003 Taz
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