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

Chapter 4

Illya's bright yellow taxi pulled over at the Pera Palace just as Istanbul was beginning to dim. The foyer was empty, he felt like a specter, unknown and unacknowledged. The sky was a deep blue blur. He looked at his reflection in the taxi window. He barely recognised himself, with his blond hair slicked back and his immaculate shave. The fake glasses had made him look like a bourgeois intellectual, it disgusted him. He handed some lira to the taxi driver, and opened the car door. He bent his back double as he got out of the taxi before rising to his full height. He got his suitcase from the boot and walked towards the hotel entrance as its façade began to glow gold. The doorman smiled and pulled the handle. As Illya was about to enter, he felt an arm slither around his neck. He dropped his case and was about yell when a hand seized his mouth. He was dragged off from the main entrance to the sidewall of the hotel. IIlya gagged, gripping his hands on his arms, trying to salvage any air he could take in. He saw the green uniform of the doorman from the corner of his eye, and felt his arms squeeze his windpipe tight. The doorman jumped onto him, his legs around his waist as he tried to drag the towering Russian down. Illya's face burned red and with it, his fury. He took in a deep breath and slammed the doorman against the wall of the hotel. He slammed again and again; he could hear his bones crash against the bricks. The man thudded against the wall like Illya's pounding head. It took one final slam for the doorman to slip off like a dead leech.

Illya didn't even spend a moment to look at him; there was only one thing on his mind. Gaby. He grabbed is suitcase and ran. He ran through the entrance, past the receptionist and up seven flights of stairs. He manoeuvred through the maze of corridors. Each one looked identical to the next as if he was just orbiting on a great conveyer belt. He caught sight of room 709. He pounded his fist against the wall. There was no response. As he pressed his ear against the door, he heard a light switch flick off. He charged like a raging bull, banging his shoulder against the door. His palms were sweating, his breath still wheezing from the chokehold. In one great burst, he charged again. The door toppled to the floor.

He stepped in, peering into the darkness. He felt something hit his neck, crushing his throat as it made impact. He grabbed it instinctively hoping to pull the attacker down. He dug his fingers into the soft supple flesh and realised something was off. But he felt the limb bend bend and with a twist of a body he was down dragged down to the floor by his neck. The attacker plummeted down and sat on Illya's shoulder. One leg still choked him, and another lodged into his ribcage. Illya writhed. He looked to the side and saw what appeared to be the hem of a dress. His eyes widened as he made out the face of his attacker. Gaby sat on top of him, staring back. Illya couldn't help but notice a glimpse of her underwear peeking out of the pleats of her dress. Gaby registered that he was clearly too comfortable in this position. She rolled off him, collapsing on the floor.

"I thought you were a Mossad agent," she said letting out a sigh of relief. The beads of sweat rolled down her face. Illya lay down to join her.

"I thought you were too," he replied, resting his hands on his stomach, trying to catch his breath. Gaby laughed.

"This is crazy," she exclaimed. She stretched out her arms as if she was making snow angels on the wooden floor.

Illya smiled and gave a little nod in agreement. "I know." There was a silence between them for a minute or two as they laid on the wooden floorboards in the dark. Then, Gaby realized something.

"Where's Napoleon?"

"I left him at the restaurant."

"Where is he now?"

"How would I know?"

"I assume you have a bug on him, besides the one on his suitcase, of course."

Illya's expression changed from sweet to sour. He frowned at Gaby, who simply pursed her lips and looked up at him with her big brown eyes. Illya played coy for a few seconds, before giving into her. He gave a stern look with his cold blue eyes and warned, "Don't tell him."

"I won't," she squeaked like a toddler who would break any promise within a few seconds. Illya retrieved his suitcase from outside of the room. He flicked the latches and pulled open his case. It looked like the control console of a submarine.

Gaby attempted to prop the door back up as Illya put on his headphones and twisted some knobs. He passed the headphones to Gaby, who fitted them on her head snuggly. Illya decided it would be a good time to check Hershlag's bug as well and plugged in a second set of headphones. He watched as Gaby's face turned bright red. The Russian furrowed his brows and put on his headphones. All he heard was a mix of moans, heated breaths and the quiet sound of brief, fleeting kisses. He buried his face in his hands and asked, "Are you hearing what I'm hearing?"

"I think so," she replied, flustered. They heard footsteps outside, the thud of a body pushed against the wall; each sound amplified on the headphones. Illya whispered "Napoleon and Hershlag are coming here, they'll be here any time now." Gaby bit her lip. "Air vent, now!"

"What?"

"Just do it."

Even from up in the air vent, Gaby and Illya could hear the discord of Napoleon's rocking bed. They were crammed tight into the air vent, Illya on top of Gaby. Unlike the steamy action going on below, the two experienced a suffocating heat. They could feel sweat stick on each other's skin. Gaby felt something hard, protruding between her legs. She squirmed, adjusting her position; Illya followed her motion to create space. To Gaby's annoyance, that object seemed to bother her no matter what position she was in... she bit her lips and blushed. Gaby whispered, "That's not very professional of you." His brows creased. Then, he looked down at his body and noticed his crotch. Gaby could feel his temperature rise and his heart beat speed up. "Sorry..." he mumbled, unsure of what to say. Suddenly, Illya whipped his head to the side, staring at the narrow, deep corridor of the air vent.

"What is it?" Gaby inquired.

"I heard someone cock a pistol."

"Are you sure you're not talking about yours?" Gaby giggled. Illya scowled as he took his Marakov pistol out and shifted so that he faced the inside of the vent. Gaby's head was forced between his shoes. Just as he was about to reload it, a shot fired. Illya yelled in anguish. Gaby saw blood seep from his shoulder. A regular human being would have shrunk away in fear, but even in the dark, she could see that Illya's eyes were ablaze. "Don't go after him!" But no measly flesh wound was going to stop him. He shot twice into the dark and began crawling his way in.