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

Chapter 7

Napoleon woke up to the ringing of his phone. He groaned, rolling over on his side to grab it. The last person he expected to hear called his name from the other end of the line. Napoleon's brows rose. "Now, what can I do for you?" he asked as he discreetly clicked his tape recorder.

A few minutes later, Napoleon was standing outside of Gaby's room in a fresh bespoke suit. He knocked, but ended up allowing himself in anyways."We're meeting Waverly at Rumeli fortress," Napoleon said as he entered. Gaby was feeding Illya a spoonful of porridge as he lay of the sofa. She was wearing a navy blue dress with a Peter Pan collar, her hair done up in a bouffant ponytail. Illya looked patched up, bandages wrapped around his shoulder and torso, squares of gauze taped over his cuts, and an ice pack over his black eye. He looked like a rag doll that had been stitched together through sheer will power, Napoleon noted the faint white scars on the rest of his body, too numerous and embedded deep in the Russian's history to date.

"How are you doing, Peril?" said Napoleon as he patted Illya's shoulder, right on his bullet wound. He gritted his teeth and growled, "You are so lucky I can barely move."

"He's in a bad mood, especially since he can't throw around the furniture in this state."

"I guess he can't follow us then," Napoleon noted. Illya looked mortified. The Russian endeavoured to get himself up, but the ache of his body overwhelmed him. He slumped back to the sofa like a slug. Gaby rushed over to him, adjusting the ice pack on his head, as she mumbled, "We better find those bastards that did this to him."

"As of this morning, I might even know who they are."

"No," Illya blurted as he forced himself to get up and pointed to Gaby, "You should leave." Gaby and Napoleon stared at him.

"What has gotten into you?" Gaby exclaimed.

Illya turned to Napoleon, pointing his finger at the American's face, "Cowboy, if these guys beat me up, you and Gaby don't stand a chance,"

"No need to be cocky about it," Napoleon remarked, "We have a different skill set."

Gaby rolled his eyes, "I do recall a wrestling match in a hotel room in Rome." Illya ignored that comment completely.

"I won't let you drag her into this," the Russian threatened as he grabbed Napoleon by his shirt, looking down on him as if he were an insect. The shorter man looked up at him and said, "I just plan to get the job done."

"And I fully intend to," Gaby added.

Illya turned to her. "This is your fault," he accused.

"Why me?" Gaby barked back defensively.

"Because now I have to worry about you. You should go back with Waverly. If we are going to complete this mission, you should leave it to us."

"Why must I go?"

"Well," Napoleon could see that Illya was making a legitimate point, considering that compared to the two men, Gaby was inexperienced. It felt too much of a risk, he couldn't afford to have her freeze up before taking a shot again."We have guns and know how to use them."

"And penises," she sulked.

"That's no what I meant" Napoleon implored, "and I'm sure that's not what Peril means to say-"

"You're a distraction," Illya said bluntly. Napoleon's palm fell on his face. 'Smoothly done, Peril,' he thought to himself sardonically.

Without warning, Gaby punched him in the gut. "Napoleon, let's go," she commanded as she stormed out the room dragging Napoleon. Gaby slammed the door in his face, while Illya was left stunned, staggering backwards and tumbling head first onto the sofa.