New York City, Halloween night, 1964
"… And there it was — the hook — still attached to the outside handle of the passenger door…"
As he finished his story, George Dennel sat back in his chair, feeling very pleased with himself. He wanted to add an evil laugh at the end, but thought better of it. He wasn’t very good at evil laughter anyway.
The small group that was gathered in the commissary of U.N.C.L.E. HQ offered polite nods and smiles. Mandy even clapped. It wasn’t quite the reaction he’d expected.
"That’s an old one, George,” Napoleon Solo observed from behind the nearby counter where he was mixing drinks for all of them. "Everyone’s heard it before." It was long after the dinner hour and except for the janitor mopping up the floors, the kitchen staff was gone for the night.
"Really?" George asked, genuinely surprised.
"In my country," Illya Kuryakin informed him, "it’s a scythe hanging on the side of a hay wagon."
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