Angelique launched a vicious kick in desperation. The pointed toe of her fashionable pump connected sharply, and with an unladylike grunt, she broke away from the furious men. Scrambling to her feet, she let out an involuntary shriek of pain as one of the larger shards pulled free from her forearm. Her furs had protected her for the most part, but the unprotected areas hurt. She glanced down at her aching forearm and frowned in dismay. The shard had cut deep enough to bleed, and bright red rivulets of blood were dripping down her arm, saturating the imported lace and raw silk sleeve of her Givencly original.
Her anger over the ruined dress smoldered over for an instant before she gave a sudden toss of her head, and strode over to pick up her purse which had fallen under the ruined bed. Yanking it open, she stared into it before angrily dumping its contents on the bed. Desperately, she pawed through the meager contents before finally stopping in despair.
Napoleon was barely holding his own in the desperate struggle, handicapped by needing those answers from Reuter, unable to inflict serious damage.
Reuter had no such inhibitions! His height and reach already overshadowed Solo, and his rage was reaching a peak as he allowed it to grow, pleased with the swell of power. While a slower, more painful death would have been preferable against the hated U.N.C.L.E. agent, Solo’s death—fast or slow—was his ultimate goal.
His hands closed around the agent’s neck, squeezing…squeezing…
The faint whisper of a sleep dart and Reuter collapsed in a heap!
Napoleon, breathing heavily, looked up into the chill, blue eyes of his partner before glancing over at the now subdued Reuter. “Uh…how—” he panted another breath. “How did…?” The light went off in his head as he grimaced in disgust at his momentary lapse. “The tracker. Reuter must have activated it when he was no nicely squeezing my neck.”
He moved his head from side to side carefully before getting up from the floor. Shrugging, he attempted to settle his jacket back in place grimacing at the dust and bits of broken glass still clinging to the material.
“Oh no, you don’t.” April’s tone was casual, but there was a hint of steel beneath the bantering tone. Her weapon was aimed rock-steady at the disheveled Thrush agent.
Angelique shrugged, pointedly ignoring the gun. Having stopped her casual advance to the door, she adjusted her furs and murmured, “I shouldn’t dream of it.” Her tactical retreat impossible for the moment, she started to dip her hand into her coat pocket.
“Don’t make me shoot you.” April was almost conversational. “I believe that I may be out of sleep darts.”
The lovely Thrush hitched her shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “I was just getting my cigarettes. All of this has been rather annoying and I’m perishing for a smoke.” As she spoke, she turned to look at Napoleon, her blue eyes wide in mute appeal.”
Napoleon had been brushing off the dust and glass from his suit. He paused in his ministrations and blinked.
“Oh, go ahead and let her,” groused Illya. He was holding the rope he’d brought and was staring at it, his annoyance at Angelique fading as he continued to stare. For some reason, he’d been thinking about tying up something…no, someone…that was it. Dropping the rope on the floor next to Reuter, he yawned
Napoleon smiled at his friend’s yawn for a moment, thinking how endearingly young it made his partner seem.
“Napoleon, my dear, if you would…?”
Looking over at Angelique, his smile brightened to near incandescent. Ever the gentleman, he reached into his pocket to draw out his lighter and walked over to the beautiful Thrush, expertly flicking on the small flame. For that brief moment, as she touched her cigarette to the warming glow, it was as if they were the only two people in the room.
Smiling her thanks, she took a long drag before blowing it out of the side of her mouth. This time when she started for the door, she wasn’t stopped.
April looked down at her Special and wondered why she had it in her hand. She didn’t need the target practice, and anyway, it was far too nice a day to stare down at silly old targets! The flickers of light reflecting from the broken mirror made her stop and stare—it was so lovely! Sitting down on the chair, she continued to stare and smile at the glass-littered floor.
Napoleon, now bereft of his beautiful Angelique, looked over at April sitting in the overstuffed easy chair. It looked very, very comfortable—especially with the rips in the fabric…
Wait! What am I doing? Napoleon gave his head a puzzled shake. We were supposed to…do something. He leaned back against the wall when he had a sudden jolt of pain from a shard in his back he hadn’t pulled out. He rubbed his eyes. Something is wrong here! In a brief moment of clarity, he looked over at the Thrush laying on the floor.
Just then, Reuter opened his eyes!
Napoleon gave his head a shake as he tried to pull himself from the fog that threatened to overtake him again, but it was no use!
It was not a nice smile and despite the background sense of ‘sweetness and light,’ Napoleon gave an involuntary shiver of anxiety. It was short lived.
“I am still going to kill you—make no mistake about that final outcome. In the meantime, though, I think you will need to learn a rather painful lesson.” With that, the man got up from the floor amid tiny sounds of broken glass and gave himself a shake to rid himself of the bulk of it. Ignoring the blood from the many cuts, he reached down to pull up Kuryakin with a jerk.
Twisting Illya’s arm around to the back, he held the drowsy, compliant agent in the painful hold and marched him toward the door which was still open. He paused for a moment in the entryway.
“You’ll be notified where you can pick up the body!”
The door closed and as if a switch were turned off, both April and Napoleon fell into a deep sleep!