The Man from U.N.C.L.E: Operation Istanbul

Chapter 1

"Did you know that Istanbul was built on seven hills like Rome?" Napoleon Solo remarked slickly to Illya Kuryakin as they descended from the helicopter on the rooftop at sunset. They could hear the melodic call to prayer echo like clockwork, bouncing off from one mosque to another. The Bosphorus glowed orange and alive with boats and ferries zipping by.

Illya felt obliged to correct him, "It was built by a Russian actually-"

Napoleon interrupted, "Mother Russia can't take credit for everything beautiful, Peril." Gaby Teller emerged from the still swinging helicopter soon after that comment, and Napoleon couldn't help but notice his partner's icy blue eyes steal a glance at her. Napoleon couldn't blame him; she did look stunning and those winds from the helicopter were doing all sorts of things to her yellow summer dress. Napoleon chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Illya threatened, a slight shrill in his voice revealed his embarrassment.

"Nothing."

"Now, I hope you two remember your covers," said Gaby

"Advisor to the British High Commissioner, Henry Bedford," Napoleon replied in a posh English accent.

Illya groaned with his same heavy, monotone accent, "Hotel waiter."

"At least that would be easier for you to manage, Illya." Gaby noted. Illya growled.

"Well, let's check in for tonight shall we?"

"Is the hotel nearby?"

"We're standing on top of it."

Later that evening, they met at Napoleon's hotel room on the seventh floor of Pera Palace hotel. They gathered in the living area that had a Persian carpet laid on the wooden floor, at the center of which was a coffee table, Illya and Gaby lounged on the divan to the side of it. Illya had put on his waiter's uniform, a white tuxedo with a black bow tie. "It looks good on you." Gaby said with a smile, Illya looked away from her nervously. "Yes, I would say it's a massive improvement to your wardrobe." Napoleon retorted, the Russian narrowed his eyes at him. To the left of the divan was a small porch; the Mediterranean breeze rustled through the translucent white curtains and creamy blue draperies, the view of the garden lit in fairy lights, the Golden Horn and the bustling city was incredible. Napoleon sat on a gilded chair opposite to them. "Charles Knight only arrives in two days time to attend a gala evening to celebrate the president of Turkey's birthday. So in the mean time we have some time for sightseeing," Napoleon remarked, "I believe that the girls here are beautiful, if the receptionists are anything to go by."

"The men too, "Gaby noted playfully. Illya pretended he didn't care but his worried tapping told otherwise.

"But seriously, we should scout the perimeter for Mossad agents, if we take all of them down first, the mission is done before Knight lands."

"How many agents are there?"

"We can't confirm but on a previous mission in Argentina with a similar goal they sent six."

"Hmmm... sound like this could be fun." Illya seemed content.

Napoleon continued, "We start tomorrow-" Illya's hand interrupted Napoleon. He pointed to an air vent on the ceiling, as he drew out his Makarov pistol slowly from the inside of his leather jacket.

Gaby stood on the coffee table and grabbed nearby standing lamp, wielding it like a baseball bat. Napoleon went for his Colt 45 in his suitcase pocket. They fitted on their suppressors.

Gaby tore down the air vent with the lamp and rolled off the table. A shot fired from the air vent, hitting a wine bottle. Metallic clashes followed soon after as the spy was trying to make a run for it. The two men fired, and with the final shot they heard a thud and a moan. Illya stood on a chair and grabbed the man by the arm, whipping him on the floor. The man in black groaned in pain, his shoulder bleeding from the bullet wound. The Russian remorselessly stepped on the wound, digging his boots into the blood like a farmer working in the mud. "Where are the rest of your people?" he yelled. The man only screamed in reply, Illya twisted his boot. Gaby pulled him back, allowing the Mossad agent to stagger back weakly, breathing heavily. "We don't want to be waking up the whole hotel," she said. Napoleon took over and pinned the agent against the bars of the porch. "Now as my partner was saying, where are the others?" he said in a low voice, locking his eyes with the agent. His quivering mouth began to open. A shot fired. Napoleon looked at Illya and Gaby but they just looked as shocked as he was. The agent sucked in a last breath and fell into Napoleon's arms. He looked on back of the dead man's head and saw the blood seep out. He looked down into the gardens, with his semi automatic ready to fire but the culprit was gone, nothing but well-groomed hedges and fairy lights inhabited the garden.

"They sent a sniper to kill him if the mission failed, damn, they are efficient," Napoleon cursed, "Peril, how did you know someone in the air vent?"

Illya shrugged, "He was breathing too loud." Gaby rolled her eyes.

"One down five to go," said Napoleon as he let go of the body and got up. Gaby folded her arms and hummed then noted, "You two should probably get rid of the body. I think we'll have a problem trying to explain this mess to housekeeping. And you should probably check the room for bugs. I'll be in my room if you need me." And with that Gaby slipped past the door and down the corridor leaving the two men with a new problem to tackle.

"You were wrong about one thing, Cowboy."

"What?"

"We don't need to look for them anymore, they found us."

By the time they finished driving off to a far enough location, buried the body, returned to the hotel and executed every counter surveillance technique known to man, it was midnight. Exhausted, they decided to return to their respective rooms.

Gaby heard a knock on her door. She opened the door to find Illya standing as stiffly as a tree. He looked like one too, leaves and twigs in his hair and on his shirt, mud stains on his shoes and trousers. He held his tuxedo jacket and bow tie in his left hand. He was about to invite himself in when Gaby slammed her hand on the doorframe, using her arm as a bar to prevent him from entering. Illya moaned and growled, "Let me in, chop shop girl."

"We aren't playing fiancés anymore, Illya" Gaby reminded, but Illya was adamant. He lifted Gaby over his shoulder. As she kicked and hit him, he walked stoically towards the bed, tossing away his jacket and bow tie and kicking off his shoes. Once he got there, he leaned over, delicately lowering her body on the bed and mounted himself on top of her, his fists on either side of her head. He felt her warm breath on her neck. Their eyes locked. "We always get interrupted when we are this close." Illya said softly, his eyelids lowering. "Yeah," Gaby replied in a breathy whisper. He leaned closer and closer. Gaby was about to brace herself when he collapsed on top of her. His sheer weight crushed her, with much effort, she attempted to squirm out. She looked around his body; there was no sign of grievous harm, there were no open bloody wounds or dark bruises. So she checked his pulse and breathing, it remained regular and steady, he hadn't been poisoned. This lead to the most logical conclusion, the bastard just decided to fall asleep on her. She smiled to herself and let out a sigh, snuggling next to him.